Killing Thing
by Sita Z
Summary: When a planetside mission wreaks havoc in Trip's life, Malcolm is the only one who can help him. TR Slash. EPILOGUE IS UP! COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Killing Thing

**Author**: Sita Z

**Genre**: Angst/Drama

**Rating**: PG 13

**Summary**: When a planetside mission wreaks havoc in Trip's life, Malcolm is the only one who can help him. T/R Slash.

**Disclaimer**: They're not mine... I just borrowed them for a while... honestly, I'll put them back! Enterprise and her crew belong to Almighty Paramount, the original characters appearing in this story are mine.

**AN**: First of all, I'd like to thank my wonderful beta readers, Gabi and T'eyla, for their patience and their help... thanks so much, girls! I couldn't have finished this monster without you.

**Please note**: This story deals with a m/m pairing, which means that Trip and Malcolm are in a loving relationship. If you don't like that, you probably won't like the story. Although there is no graphic content, some of the chapters are rated R for language and violence. Please read the Author's Note before each chapter to check the rating.

New chapters will be added every two to three days.

And now, on with the story... as always, feedback and constructive criticism are very welcome :)!

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_"Anger is a killing thing: it kills the man who angers, for each rage leaves him less than he had been before - it takes something from him. "  
_

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Chapter 1

"Trip!"

There was no answer. Malcolm let his finger rest on the door chime for a second, hesitated, then pushed it again.

"Trip, please! Open the door!"

No reaction. Malcolm hadn't expected one. Usually, he would have given up at that point, reluctant to make a nuisance of himself. This was different, however, in every possible way Malcolm could imagine, and he knew that this time, he could not turn away.

He pressed the door chime again. "Trip. Open the door. Or I'm going to do it."

The door didn't budge, nor was there any sign that someone in there had heard Malcolm's announcement. Malcolm closed his eyes. Truth was, he was afraid. He had no idea what to expect when he went in there. Involuntarily, he counted the times he had stood in front of Trip's quarters during the last three hours, his finger on the door chime, his heart hammering in his chest.

_If I only knew what happened down there._

He didn't, though, and that was the point. The Captain wouldn't talk to him, wasn't available, as he had been told. When Malcolm had insisted, T'Pol had given him the closest thing to a glare Malcolm had ever seen from her.

"I suggest your return to your post, Lieutenant. This does not concern you."

He could not tell her that it did concern him, or why. She wouldn't understand, and even if she did, Malcolm wasn't going to share that part of his life with the Vulcan science officer. Or anyone else. Not yet, and maybe not ever. It was a thing he himself couldn't quite understand, how or why it had happened. But it had, and that was why Malcolm couldn't turn away, why it did concern him when Trip hid in quarters and refused to speak to anyone.

"Trip, I'm going to come in now."

Silence. Malcolm began to enter the security override code, pretending that his fingers didn't shake as he did so. The door slid aside to reveal darkness. In the light from the corridor, Malcolm saw someone lying on the bed with his back to the room, bundled in a layer of blankets. Trip didn't move, but Malcolm knew at once that he wasn't sleeping.

"I'm going to turn up the light a little, okay?" he said as softly as he could, not expecting an answer. Malcolm turned the light to its lowest setting, moving into the room until the door automatically closed behind him.

Trip had not moved, hadn't even turned his head. The only thing Malcolm could see of him were a few sandy strands of hair sticking out of the blanket bundle.

Slowly, he approached the bed. "Trip?"

No reaction. For the first time, Malcolm noticed that Trip's closet was open, his clothes strewn across the floor as if someone had frantically pulled them outside. Trip's beloved Hawaiian shirts lay crumpled in a corner, the particularly horrible one with the palm trees and toucans on top of the others. Malcolm remembered the long and pointless discussion they'd had about that shirt, he trying to explain why that kind of shirt shouldn't be worn in public, Trip insisting that, being British, Malcolm just didn't understand about that kind of thing. Now, that argument seemed years - decades - ago, like something that had happened in another life.

Malcolm sat down on the edge of the bunk.

"Trip?"

Finally, the blankets moved a little, if only because Trip was trying to retreat further into his cocoon.

"Go away." Trip's voice sounded muffled and hoarse, but at least he had spoken.

Carefully, Malcolm laid a hand on where he assumed Trip's shoulder to be. "Trip, I-"

Trip's reaction was violent. He threw off the blanket, and pushed Malcolm's hand away, so hard that Malcolm almost lost his balance.

"Get your fuckin' hands off me!"

Malcolm stared. Trip's face was a mess. His lip was split at least twice, and his left eye was swollen shut, surrounded by one of the worst bruises Malcolm had ever seen. What was almost worse, however, was the crazed expression on his face.

"Get out!" Trip continued, in that strange voice that didn't seem to belong to him. "I don't want you here!"

"Trip, what happened? Who did this to you?"

"I said get out! Get away from me!"

Trip's anger seemed to fill the air between them. Malcolm backed off and got to his feet, trying hard to stay calm.

"Trip, I need to know what happened. I want to help you."

"Well, maybe I don't want your help!" Trip was shouting now, and Malcolm saw that his hands were shaking. Not with anger, though. The realization hit Malcolm like a sudden rush of cold air. Trip was afraid. "Leave me alone!"

"Trip, I can't leave you alone." Aware that his actions might evoke another violent response, Malcolm approached Trip. "Not like that. You're-"

Trip came at him so suddenly that Malcolm almost had no time to react. He blocked Trip's fist only barely, catching the other man's wrists before Trip could pull back for another punch.

"Let me go!" Trip struggled to get away, his bruised face a grimace of uninhibited panic. "Get away from me you bastard let me go-"

Trip had no chance if Malcolm meant business; the few centimeters he had over the Armory Officer couldn't compensate for Malcolm's combat training. Still, Malcolm let go, sensing that holding on to Trip would be the worst thing he could do at the moment. He braced himself to block another attack from the distraught man, but it never came. Trip's breathing came heavily and he stumbled back to his bed, his upper body slightly bent forward as if in pain.

"Trip!"

Malcolm reached out to help him lie down, but Trip flinched away from his touch.

"Leave me alone, Malcolm."

Awkwardly, he lowered himself back on to the bunk, and Malcolm saw him wince as he pulled the blankets closer to his stomach.

"Trip, you're in pain." He sat back down on the bed. "Let me help you."

Trip turned away from him. "I said I don't want your help. Get out."

"No." Malcolm tried for a firm voice. "I'm not going to leave until you tell me what happened."

Trip said nothing, only pulled the blankets closer to himself and closed his eyes. Malcolm didn't need a translator to get the unspoken message: _You do what you want, but I'm not going to talk to you._

"That's not going to work, Trip," he said. "I'm not going to go away."

He studied Trip's unmoving back, noticing that Trip was wearing his thick flannel sweater, on top of another woolen shirt. The short-cropped hair at the nape of his neck was drenched with sweat. A glance at the environmental controls confirmed Malcolm's suspicion; the room's temperature had been raised by at least five degrees.

"Trip, don't you-"

He stopped short. The sweater and shirt had ridden up Trip's back, revealing a narrow stretch of skin around the waist. Skin that was mottled with dark spots.

Without thinking, Malcolm pulled the fabric aside and saw the full extent of the bruises.

"Trip, what-"

Trip whipped around. "What are you doin'?"

Malcolm saw the panic and fury in his eyes, and quickly withdrew his hands.

"What happened to you?"

But Trip wasn't listening. He sat up, back flat against the wall, and stared at Malcolm with narrowed eyes.

"Don't you touch me," he whispered. "Don't you ever, ever touch me again, y'hear?"

Malcolm nodded and raised his hands to show that he meant no harm. "Okay, Trip," he said, forcing his voice to sound calm. "Okay. I'm not going to touch you. But I want to know what happened to you. How did you get those bruises?"

Trip clutched the blankets to his chest, as if trying to erect a shield between himself and Malcolm. "I don't know what you're talkin' about."

"Did Phlox take a look at you?" Like everybody else, the doctor had been less than forthcoming, and had mentioned only reluctantly that Commander Tucker had been "uncooperative about the examination". Judging from the med equipment scattered all over the sickbay floor, that had been putting it mildly.

Trip turned his head away. "Go away, Malcolm."

"Trip." Malcolm leaned forward, careful not to touch the man sitting across from him. "I can't do that. I need to know what's going on. I don't know what happened down on that planet, but I can see that something went wrong. The Captain's been hiding in his quarters ever since you came back. T'Pol refuses to talk to anyone. And you..."

_You're not acting yourself._

"I want to help you, Trip. But I can only do so if you tell me what happened."

Trip stared straight ahead. "There's nothin' to tell. I have nothin' to say to you."

Malcolm saw the moisture rimming Trip's eyes, the way he furiously wiped at it with his hand, and did the only thing he could think of: he reached out and pulled Trip close.

It was a mistake. Trip pushed him away, and this time Malcolm did lose his balance. Sitting on the floor, he stared up at Trip who had retreated to the farthest corner of his bed. Panic that came close to insanity glinted in his eyes.

"Get out!" he hissed. "Get away from me!"

Very slowly, Malcolm got up, retreating to the door. Trip watched his every move, and only relaxed when Malcolm reached for the door opener.

"I'm going to come back later," Malcolm said softly. "I never meant any harm, Trip."

Trip only stared at him. His hands were clenched to fists, shaking.

Malcolm stepped outside, watching as the door slid shut behind him. His hands were trembling, and he wrapped his arms around himself. Crazy. This was crazy. Something terrible had happened, and all they got from the people involved was silence. Or, in Trip's case, anger and fear that bordered on insanity. Trip's bruised face came back to Malcolm's mind, the way he had cringed back from his touch. It hurt Malcolm's very soul to think about it.

_I'm going to kill them_, he thought, irrationally, not sure if it was his own, sensible mind speaking or... something else. Something so deep within himself that rational thought couldn't touch it. Before Trip, he hadn't even known that part of himself existed. But it came to the surface, every time Trip joined an away mission or ended up in sickbay, leaving Malcolm worrying and pacing and tearing his heart out. And now, after he had seen Trip hiding in the dark like a frightened animal, it left him angrier than he could remember ever being before. _Don't give a shit who they are, or what they've done, or why they've done it_. Someone had hurt Trip. And Malcolm was going to kill them.

* * *

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Killing Thing

**Author**: Sita Z

**Genre**: Angst/Drama

**Rating**: PG 13

**AN: **Thanks to everybody who reviewed chapter 1!

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Chapter 2

"Reed to sickbay."

"Phlox here," the doctor responded almost immediately, as if he had been waiting for Malcolm's call.

"Doctor, if you wouldn't mind coming down here for a minute," Malcolm said. "I... I think you're needed."

"I assume "down here" would be in front of Commander Tucker's quarters, right?" The doctor didn't wait for Malcolm's confirmation. "I'll be with you in a minute, Lieutenant. Phlox out."

Phlox signed off and Malcolm leaned against the wall next to the comm, staring at the closed door to Trip's quarters. Calling the doctor might not have been the wisest move, given Trip's earlier reaction, but Malcolm didn't know what else to do. And he had to do _something_, couldn't just walk away when Trip was... not himself.

Malcolm noticed that his hands were clenched to fists. Those bruises on Trip's face and body couldn't be the result of an accident; the patterns were too deliberate. But the away team couldn't have run into a fight, could they? The negotiations had gone well, the Ru'khi being delighted at having alien visitors, and even more delighted at being able to sell them a fair amount of dilithium, a substance their own people had no use for at all. And for once, Captain Archer had agreed to have three security guards assigned to the away party, "just in case." Trip had been more than excited about the mission, trying to wheedle Malcolm into abandoning the weapons upgrades and joining them on the surface.

_"Come on, it'll be fun. Fresh air, enjoyin' the scenery... it'll do you good."_

Now, Malcolm wished more than anything else that he had listened. If he had been there... if he had been able to protect Trip...

"Lieutenant?"

Malcolm raised his head. He hadn't heard Phlox approaching.

"Doctor. I'm glad you're here."

The Denobulan's face was set into worried lines as he looked at the closed door. "I take it you've been to see the Commander."

Malcolm nodded. "He wouldn't open the door, so I used the override to get in. He's..." He swallowed, not sure how to describe what Trip had been. "He's not being himself. And he's been hurt."

"I know." Phlox sighed. "It was obvious when they returned from the surface that Commander Tucker had been injured. He would not allow me to examine him, however, and became quite... agitated when I approached him with a medical scanner. Needless to say that he didn't let me in when I came down to his quarters."

From his tone, Malcolm took it that Phlox had spent more than a few minutes outside Trip's quarters, trying to persuade him to open the door.

"What... what about Captain Archer?" he asked. "Didn't he order Trip to stay in sickbay?"

Phlox lowered his eyes. "Lieutenant, I'm afraid I can't reveal any details about the Captain's condition, but... I don't think he would have been able to give any orders at that point."

"What?" Malcolm was barely aware that he had raised his voice. "What are you talking about?"

"Let's just say the Captain was extremely... distraught when the away team returned from the surface. As was the security team. You realize that the Subcommander ordered Ensign Mayweather and Ensign Hsan to take Shuttlepod II down because none of the away party were in any condition to pilot a shuttle."

"I didn't know." The hot, tight ball in Malcolm's chest clenched, his control wavering. This was getting crazier by the minute. There had been no briefing after the mission, no announcement whatsoever. Nothing. The Captain was in his quarters, watched over by a silent and grim-looking T'Pol, and the security team seemed to have vanished into thin air, while everybody else was left wondering what the hell had happened. And there was Trip, of course, hurt and distressed to the point of losing his sanity.

Phlox rested a hand on his arm. "Lieutenant. I believe we should look after Commander Tucker. If he'll let us. One step at a time."

Malcolm nodded. He didn't look forward to going back in there, not knowing what Trip's reaction might be. But he knew that it needed to be done.

Carefully, he knocked on the door, not bothering to ring the doorchime this time.

"Trip?"

Again, there was no answer. Malcolm exchanged a look with the doctor, who nodded encouragingly.

"Trip, it's me and Dr. Phlox," Malcolm continued. "The doctor's here to take a look at your injuries."

Trip didn't answer. Malcolm gave Phlox another glance to let him know what he was doing and began to enter the security code for the second time today.

"We're coming in now, Trip," he told the silence on the other side of the door. "There's nothing to worry about, the doctor's only going to have a look at you."

The door slid open. As Malcolm had expected, Trip hadn't changed the light setting, had probably never even left his bunk. His back was turned to the door, the blankets pulled up to his chin.

"Trip?" Malcolm asked carefully as they stepped into the room. The door closed with a soft hiss. "Trip, it's me and Dr. Phlox."

Trip turned his head, as if he had noticed their presence for the first time. "I want to be alone," he said, so quietly that Malcolm almost didn't catch it. He didn't sound aggressive anymore, and there was a low tremble in his voice, as if he were desperately trying to hold back - sobs, screams, whatever.

Phlox approached the bed. "Commander, you're hurt. I can help you if you allow me to examine you."

Malcolm doubted that Trip had been listening; he seemed lost in his own world of misery. The doctor caught Malcolm's eyes, glancing at Trip's desk chair. Malcolm understood. Keeping his movements slow and his steps quiet, he walked over to the desk, picked up the chair and set it down next to the bed so Phlox could have a seat without getting too close to Trip.

Phlox nodded his thanks and sat down.

"Commander," he said. "I can see that you're in pain. But I'm not going to do anything without your permission. Will you allow me to examine you?"

Trip didn't turn around. "I told you to go away. I want to be alone."

Malcolm sat down next on the edge of the bed and laid a hand on the other man's back. He expected Trip to push him away, but Trip only tensed a little at his touch. Not sure if he was doing the right thing, not caring if the doctor drew his own conclusions, Malcolm began to stroke Trip's back, very gently, careful not to touch the places where he remembered the bruises to be.

"It's okay, Trip," he said, acutely aware of how wrong he was. _Nothing_ was okay, and Malcolm had known from the first moment he had entered Trip's quarters. But what else was he supposed to say? "It's okay."

After a while, Trip began to relax under his caresses, the tension gradually easing off. Malcolm continued stroking, and out of the corner of his eye saw something (...a smile?) flicker across Phlox' face.

_Doesn't matter_. Later would be enough time to deal with the consequences of his actions, the fact that he had just revealed to a third person what was really going on between him and Trip. Right now, it was only important that Trip felt safe.

His left hand still resting between Trip's shoulder blades, Malcolm slowly began to remove the blankets that Trip had wrapped around himself like a caterpillar's cocoon.

"It's okay," he repeated when he felt Trip's muscles tense in response, "everything's all right, love. Dr. Phlox needs to take a look at your back."

Trip said nothing, but he didn't resist either when Malcolm laid the blankets aside and gently pushed up his sweater and shirt.

"Oh God."

Malcolm bit his lip before an angry curse could slip out. The brief glimpse he had gotten before hadn't prepared him for this. Trip's waist looked as if someone had tried to claw their way to the inmost layer of the skin, the large purplish bruises interrupted by deep, red scratches and marks that looked as if they had been left by fingernails.

Malcolm looked at Phlox, and saw that the doctor's normally cheerful features had grown rigid. Phlox took out his scanner, his face growing even darker as he studied the readings on the small display.

"Doctor?" Malcolm bit his lip.

"Not now, Lieutenant." Phlox wouldn't meet his eyes as he took a hypospray out of his medkit. "This should help with the pain," he said to Trip, who nodded silently. "You won't have to go through surgery," the doctor continued in that strange, quiet tone. "It's best to leave your internal wounds to heal on their own. But I'll give you something to prevent an infection."

He injected Trip with another spray, then proceeded to clean and dress the worst of the scratches. Trip lay passively through the doctor's administrations, never giving any indication that he was even aware of what was going on around him. Malcolm's heart was racing in his chest. Internal wounds. What the hell was that supposed to mean? If there was internal damage as the result of a beating, leaving the wounds to heal on their own might be a fatal thing to do.

"Doctor..." he began, trailing off when Phlox shook his head. Something about the doctor's face sent a chill down Malcolm's spine. Fury shone in those strange blue eyes; a cold anger that seemed so unlike the doctor's normally gentle nature.

Phlox tucked his scanner away, then, still avoiding Malcolm's eyes, he leaned forward and spoke quietly to his unresponsive patient.

"Commander, I'm sorry, but I'll have to take... a sample."

Malcolm could practically feel the panic surge back into Trip's body; he tensed, as if ready to run, and tried to move away. Malcolm had no idea what kind of sample the doctor was talking about, but he didn't care. Whatever it was, it couldn't be that urgent.

"Doctor, maybe this can wait until later..."

"I'm afraid not, Lieutenant." Phlox took a small glass container and a cotton swab from his medkit, meeting Malcolm's eyes. "I believe I need your help here."

Malcolm understood. Whatever the doctor was going to do, it was obviously going to be uncomfortable, maybe even frightening for Trip. As carefully as he could, Malcolm moved closer to the man on the bed and resumed his caresses, running his hand through Trip's sweaty hair.

"It's going to be all right, love," he said. "No one's going to hurt you. It's going to be fine."

Trip's eyes were tightly shut, and he flinched as if in pain. Malcolm spared a glance to check what the doctor was doing, just in time to see Phlox tugging Trip's briefs back into place. The swab in the sample container was stained with red. Malcolm stared at it.

"May I have a word with you, Lieutenant?"

He nodded, feeling numb as he got up and followed the doctor to the window. Phlox rested both hands on the narrow window sill, half-turning his head to look at Malcolm.

"Lieutenant, what I'm going to tell you now falls under doctor/patient confidentiality. Under normal circumstances, only the Captain would be entitled to detailed information, but..." Phlox sighed, turning to look out the window. "I'm going to need your help, Lieutenant. Commander Tucker is going to need your help, especially since the two of you are so close."

Malcolm glanced at Trip who was still facing away from them, then at the container with the bloodstained cotton wad inside.

"What happened to Trip, Doctor?"

Phlox turned to look at him. "The Commander has been sexually assaulted. And brutally so, as you have seen yourself. I'm sorry, Malcolm."

Malcolm barely noticed Phlox' use of his first name. Somewhere, somehow, he could feel his world crashing down, shattering into a thousand tiny pieces without so much as a sound. Maybe he wasn't even that surprised, had known the truth from the moment he had seen those bruises, his mind pushing it away because he couldn't bear to face it. It didn't matter. He stared at Phlox' sad face, felt a hand coming to rest on his arm, but found himself unable to move or speak.

"Lieutenant," Phlox said. "Commander Tucker is going to need your help, now. Do you understand that?"

Somehow he managed to nod. "I... I understand."

"Good." Phlox gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "Normally, I would have the Commander transferred to sickbay, but right now it's more important that he stays in an environment where he feels secure. He can't be left alone, however."

The automaton in Malcolm's mind that had taken over nodded again. "I'll stay with him."

"I'll ask Subcommander T'Pol to relieve you temporarily of duty so you can remain with Commander Tucker as long as needed." Phlox glanced at the huddled figure on the bed. "I'm going to give him a sedative so he can sleep. When he's resting, you can try and make him more comfortable, and... clean him up. It might be better if he's not awake while you're doing so."

Malcolm nodded again. "But... the blood... shouldn't you do something about it?"

"I already have, Lieutenant. The injection I gave him will prevent the internal... abrasions from becoming infected, which is about all I can do at the moment. Commander Tucker's injuries don't require surgery, and are best left to heal on their own."

Malcolm watched the doctor pick up the sample glass and store it away in his medkit. "You'll find out who did it," he said, his own voice sounding flat and hollow in his ears.

The doctor raised his head. "I will. But... please remember, Lieutenant, that Commander Tucker needs you. I realize that you may feel the desire to seek revenge, but you'll only hurt the Commander by doing so. He needs you to be there for him, not to go off on a vendetta."

Malcolm held the doctor's eyes. "I'm not going to let him down, Doctor."

"I never said you would." Phlox sighed, administering another hypospray to Trip before he gathered up his medkit. "I'll come back tomorrow to check on him. I'll be in sickbay so you can contact me if complications arise."

"I will."

The doctor gave him a worried look, then turned to the door. "I'll see you later, Lieutenant."

"Doctor..."

Phlox turned around again. "Yes?"

"Are you going to inform the Captain about... about Trip?"

Once again, Phlox lowered his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at Malcolm. "I'll let Subcommander T'Pol know. I don't think the Captain is in any condition yet."

Malcolm watched the doctor leave, wondering what was keeping the Captain from coming down here to check on Trip. Jonathan Archer thought of Trip as a substitute little brother, a younger sibling he had to look after and protect , and Malcolm would have expected him to come rushing down to his Chief Engineer's quarters as soon as he realized that there was something wrong. But he hadn't done so; in fact, from what little Phlox had told him, it sounded as if the Captain was seriously ill. Or incapacitated. Whatever. Nobody seemed inclined to divulge any more information, and right now, everything seemed secondary in the face of what he had just learned.

Malcolm turned back to the bed, and suddenly felt the urge to scream, to grab any breakable object in the room and slam it against the wall to watch it shatter. To kill someone. Despite his chosen profession, Malcolm had never felt the desire to end a life, not until now. It was a hurtful sensation. Burning in his mind, making him shake. But he couldn't deny that it was there.

For several seconds he just stood there, waiting for the mad rage to cool off again. Only twice in his life had he failed to keep that tightly-strung control, and on one of those occasions he had almost killed a man. He couldn't afford to lose it now.

Slowly, Malcolm unclenched his hands, forcing himself to take a deep breath. He had done this before, suppressed his emotions in times of need, and he guessed he could do it again. He could be calm, he could even be strong if Trip needed him to.

Approaching the bed, Malcolm saw that Trip had indeed fallen asleep, as Phlox had said he would after the injection. He was not resting quietly, his eyebrows drawn into a frown and his breathing shallow and hoarse, but he was sleeping. As Malcolm stared at his partner's bruised face, the sudden tight feeling in his chest rose into his eyes, and he had to blink away tears. Now was not the time to let himself go and fall apart.

He went into the bathroom, took a washcloth out of Trip's cupboard and wet it with warm water from the sink. That done, Malcolm grabbed one of the towels and went back into the main room where he grimly and silently set about the task of "cleaning Trip up". It was difficult not to flinch and look away when he saw the thin streaks of caked blood, and even harder to hold back his tears as he carefully began to clean them away, but somehow he managed to do so. When he was done, he simply dropped the washcloth and towel on the floor next to the bed and drew the covers back over Trip. Malcolm was about to get to his feet when the sleeping man suddenly began to shift and let out a small moan. His eyes moved from side to side under his eyelids and his hands clenched the sheets, shaking and trembling. More than anything else, Malcolm wished he could have woken Trip from his nightmare, but returning to reality wasn't likely to make things better for Trip. And he needed his rest.

Trip moaned again, and Malcolm came to a decision. Even though Trip had shied away from his touch at first, Malcolm's presence and gentle caresses seemed to have calmed him down during Phlox' examination, allowing him to relax. Not quite sure whether he was doing the right thing, Malcolm slipped out of his boots and uniform, left them on the floor next to the towel and, clad only in his blue briefs, crawled into bed next to Trip. Very carefully so as not to startle the sleeping man, Malcolm lay down behind him and gently pulled Trip closer. He drew the blankets over both of them and for a moment just lay there. The sensation of Trip's skin on his, of a warm, breathing body next to his own made him suddenly and acutely aware of how lucky he was that Trip was still alive. He had seen the injuries on Trip's lower body; whoever inflicted such wounds on another person wouldn't care if the object of their aggression did not survive the attack.

Slowly and carefully, Malcolm slipped an arm around Trip so that his hand and forearm came to rest on Trip's stomach. The other man moaned softly in his sleep, and Malcolm slid closer, whispering into Trip's sweat-drenched hair.

"It's all right, love. I'm here. No one's going to hurt you. It's all right."

Trip stirred again, and Malcolm continued to whisper, his hand ghosting across the fine hair on Trip's stomach.

"It's okay, Trip. It's going to be okay."

After a few minutes, Trip grew quiet again. His breathing had evened out, and he seemed to have slipped into a deeper, dreamless sleep. The soft fabric of his flannel sweater brushed across Malcolm's stomach, and Malcolm realized that Trip had moved closer to him, relaxing in his embrace instead of pushing him away. It was a gesture of complete trust and Malcolm found himself swallowing tears, wishing that he had proven himself worthy of such a thing. If he'd been there, he could have protected Trip, would have killed the attacker if necessary, to make sure that no one hurt the person Malcolm Reed cared most about. If he'd only been there.

Malcolm closed his eyes, causing the tears he had been holding back to trickle down his cheeks. Every time Trip left the ship to join Captain Archer in another away mission, another diplomatic effort that required Commander Tucker's ingenuity and engineering skills (rather than a paranoid security officer hovering in the background), Malcolm's far too imaginative mind came up with at least twenty different scenarios that would result in Trip ending up in sickbay, getting kidnapped, or otherwise threatened by some of the less welcoming aliens they had met out here. This, however... this was worse than anything he had ever imagined while prowling around the armory and counting the seconds until Trip would stroll through the door - alive, safe and sound - and fill Malcolm in about the details of his latest away mission with "the Cap'n" (a.k.a. Captain Jonathan Archer). Even in his worst nightmares (and those were _bad_), Malcolm had never seen himself in a dimly-lit cabin, holding his partner's battered and bruised body and wondering if Trip would ever return to something like a normal life, if he would ever be the same person again. If he would still want Malcolm Reed in his life after what had happened to him at the hands of a sadistic stranger.

The idea of Trip shutting him out and ending their relationship was more than Malcolm could bear to think about, and he forcibly pushed the thought away. It wouldn't - couldn't - happen.

Trip moved again, and Malcolm ran a careful hand through his sleeping partner's hair.

"It's going to be all right, Trip," he said, trying to convince himself that he wasn't only spouting empty phrases. But how could things ever be all right again after... all of this?

"It's going to be all right," Malcolm repeated in a hoarse voice, refusing the idea that it could be otherwise. "You're going to be fine."

Trip calmed down again at the sound of Malcolm's voice, and Malcolm continued his caresses, suddenly reminded of an evening in Trip's quarters only a few weeks ago. They'd been watching one of Trip's godawful horror flicks, Malcolm leaning against Trip and offering the occasional sarcastic remark about the film while Trip had had his arm around Malcolm's shoulders, interrupting his popcorn consumption now and then to tell Malcolm to shut up when they got to the "good parts".

"Just for that, I'm making you watch a film version of "King Lear" next time," Malcolm remembered himself saying when the closing credits had scrolled down the screen. "It seems as if your choice of entertainment could do with a little Shakespeare."

Trip had only grinned in response. "You do that, and it'll be the killer androids the next three times I get to pick the movie."

They had bickered about the film for a while, then Trip had declared war by grabbing the rest of the popcorn and announcing that if Malcolm wanted any more he should get his own from the messhall (their unspoken rule was that if you picked the film, you also provided the snacks). Malcolm wasn't quite sure how it had happened, but in the end he had found himself pinning a madly giggling engineer to the bed, threatening to resort to some serious measures of torture if Trip didn't give Malcolm his fair share of the feed (just on principle, since at that point the popcorn had been scattered all over Trip's bed and the floor). Trip, who had told Malcolm in an unguarded moment that he was "a little ticklish", had had no choice but to surrender, start picking up the popcorn and popping them one after the other into Malcolm's mouth. Sitting on a crumpled bed, redfaced and exhausted with laughter, Malcolm had felt more like a hormone-ridden teenager than a Starfleet officer, and at the same time more happy and alive than he had in a long time. Being with Trip tended to do that to him.

Malcolm noticed that he had tightened his arm around Trip's waist, and carefully loosened his grip. Hurting or scaring his injured partner by holding him too tight was the last thing he had in mind. He lay very still, listening to Trip's breathing and feeling the soft rise and fall of Trip's stomach under his fingers. And decided that even if things never returned to what they had been, he wasn't going to give up on this man. He would be there, offering whatever support he could give. Making sure that no one ever laid their hands on Trip again, and that those who had already done so would suffer, if he ever met them face to face.

Malcolm tugged at the blankets so that they covered both him and Trip to the shoulders and resumed his gentle stroking of Trip's hair. He stayed like that for most of the night, holding Trip and staring into the dark, and it was only in the early morning hours that he finally fell asleep.

* * *

TBC... 

Please let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Title**: Killing Thing

**Author**: Sita Z

**Genre**: Angst/Drama

**Rating**: R

**AN: **Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter :). **Please not that this chapter is rated R for violence!**

---------------

Chapter 3

_...a hand is holding his face down on the pillow, and all he can see is red darkness; he can barely breathe, let alone scream. There are more hands, painfully squeezing his arms and legs as they pin him down on the bed. He tries to struggle, which only leads to more pain as one of them cruelly twists his arm. He can taste his own blood, a mixture of salt and copper, and his head is beginning to pound with the lack of oxygen. The sound of heavy breathing and voices reach his ears whenever he manages to come up for a gulp of air._

_"...keep him still... you like that, don't you..."_

_He feels the bed underneath him move, and suddenly a particularly vicious pair of hands begins to tear off his remaining clothes, taking cruel pleasure in dragging its fingernails across the exposed skin. He feels a rush of cold air as the clothing is ripped off his lower body, and, realizing what is going to happen, kicks out in wild despair. One of his legs comes free, and his foot hits a soft stomach, causing its owner to grunt with pain. For the split of a second he believes he can shake off those hands, but before he can turn around their fingers clench on his arms, and he is shoved back down onto the bed, his cries muffled as his face hits the pillow._

_"...goddamn queer... show you..."_

_He feels the third pair of hands on his waist, its fingernails drawing blood, and hears muffled laughter at his effortless attempts to free himself. No! The word fills his mouth, chokes him, but his face is squashed against the pillow and he can't even open his mouth to take a breath. No, leave me alone, get your hands off me, NO!_

_And suddenly there is pain, a ripping, searing pain that fills his world, and all he knows is that it hurts, oh God, it hurts, IT HURTS-_

Malcolm was woken rather abruptly when a flailing arm struck him on the side of his face, and he opened his eyes to find Trip half-awake, struggling wildly to free himself from Malcolm's embrace. Malcolm let go, and at the same time reached out to touch his partner's shoulder.

"Trip-"

"No!" Trip recoiled and retreated to the wall on the other side of the bed. "Leave me alone!"

Malcolm glanced at the luminous display of the bedside clock. It was only 0434, which meant that he had been asleep for less than two hours. Slowly, he pushed himself into a sitting position, and held up his hands to show that he meant no threat.

"It's okay, Trip," he said, keeping his voice calm, although it hurt his very soul to see Trip like this. "I'm not going to hurt you. It's all right."

Trip's eyes narrowed to slits, and carefully - as if he were afraid any rash movement could set Malcolm off and make him go berserk - he reached out and gathered up the blanket that was bunched on the bed between them, wrapping it around himself.

"Why're you here?" he asked hoarsely, and Malcolm could see that he was still partly caught in his nightmare. The expression on Trip's pale, sweaty face sent a chill down Malcolm's spine. He had seen his partner angry, sad, irritable and afraid, he had even witnessed a sulking Trip and a tipsy, giggly Trip, but he had never seen a Trip who had lost the firm grip on reality that had always been an integrate part of his nature. Now, however, Malcolm wasn't even sure if Trip recognized him for who he was, a person Trip loved and trusted. All Trip might see was someone invading his private space, someone who posed a potential threat.

"You seemed like you could use some company," he replied quietly, watching Trip's face as he said it. Trip didn't move. A vein had started to pulse on his neck, and the look in his eyes reminded Malcolm more of a frightened animal than anything else.

"Trip," he began, and slowly raised a hand, bringing it closer to Trip's shoulder. Trip's own hands came up so quickly that Malcolm barely had a chance to react and pull his hand back.

"Don't touch me!" Trip all but hissed. "I don't care what you think you're doin', but you're not gonna touch me! Get that?"

For a second, Malcolm felt hurt by the venom in Trip's voice - until he took a look at Trip's face, and saw the naked, almost insane fear in his partner's eyes.

Slowly, Malcolm withdrew the rest of the way, and deliberately rested his hands in his lap.

"I'm not going to touch you," he said, his quiet voice belying the turmoil he felt on the inside. "I'm sorry if I frightened you."

Trip stared at him for another moment, then began to move to the foot of the bed, still wrapped in his blanket and his eyes never leaving Malcolm. He got up, and Malcolm winced inwardly when he saw his partner's slow and awkward movements as he walked over to the closet. Trip was obviously in pain, but didn't seem to pay it any attention. He opened the door of his closet, and after some rummaging through its contents pulled out a thick jacket - one of the few articles of cold weather clothing that he owned - and slipped into it, closing the zipper up to his chin before he wrapped the blanket back around his shoulders. Malcolm couldn't understand how Trip could be comfortable under all those clothes (underneath the jacket Trip was still wearing the flannel sweater and a shirt), but his partner's face showed a strange kind of relief once he was safely cocooned in his blanket again. Malcolm doubted that Trip was even aware of another presence in the room as he limped over to his desk chair and sat down, a huddled form in front of a field of stars.

"Trip?" Malcolm asked carefully, and wasn't surprised when Trip didn't even raise his head. He noticed that despite the various thick layers of clothing, Trip was shivering.

"Trip?" He got up as well, making sure to move slowly and keep a distance of a few meters between himself and the other man. "Trip, are you alright?"

Trip kept staring at the floor between his feet, his arms wrapped around himself as if he were in the middle of a snowstorm, trying to protect himself from the icy wind.

"Cold," he whispered, the words barely audible to Malcolm. "So damn cold in here."

Malcolm glanced at the environmental controls. The temperature in Trip's quarters had been raised to 26° Celsius, which was five degrees warmer than the normal room temperature on Enterprise, and still, Trip seemed to be shivering uncontrollably, a trickle of sweat running down the side of his face at the same time.

Keeping a watchful eye on his partner, Malcolm moved across the room to the comm panel next to the door, and pressed a button.

"Reed to sickbay."

"Phlox here," he heard the doctor's voice. "What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

"Doctor, I think you'd better take a look at Trip," Malcolm replied. Involuntarily he kept his voice down although he doubted Trip would have reacted even if he had shouted. "He said that he's cold, and he's shivering all over."

"I'll be right there." Phlox signed off and left Malcolm staring at the speaker, wondering whether Phlox' curt answer was good news or bad news. Judging from the undercurrent of concern in the doctor's tone, however, it definitely seemed to be the latter.

Malcolm turned away from the comm, and for a moment stood next to the door, unsure what to do next. Eventually, he settled for sitting back down on the bed and feeling around on the floor until he found the various parts of his uniform in the semi-darkness. Might as well get dressed; Malcolm knew there was no way he was going to go back to sleep tonight.

"I've asked Dr. Phlox to come here so he can have a look at you," he told Trip quietly, aware that the bowed figure next to the window was probably not even hearing the sound of his voice. Once again, Malcolm had to try hard to fight the choking feeling at the back of his throat. How was he ever going to be able to help Trip if...

..._if he has lost his sanity_, a helpful voice at the back of his mind supplied, finishing the thought that Malcolm didn't have the heart to think to its end. Malcolm watched his partner for another few seconds, then bowed his head and rested his face in his hands, wishing his oh-so-brilliant tactical mind would come up with a way - any way - to end this nightmare.

The door chimed and Malcolm raised his head again, slowly getting to his feet. "Come," he said.

Phlox entered, medkit in hand, and a worried expression appeared on his face as he became aware of Trip sitting next to the window.

"How long has he been like that?" he asked without greeting, and confirmed Malcolm's earlier suspicion that this new development had the doctor deeply worried.

"He went to sit over there only a couple of minutes ago," he replied, feeling helpless as he glanced at his partner who in the meantime had started to rock back and forth along with the shivering. "He... I think he had a nightmare. He panicked when he woke up, and insisted that I couldn't touch him."

Phlox nodded, his eyes still on Trip, and set his medkit down on the foot of the bed.

"I'm going to be perfectly honest with you, Lieutenant," he said as he took out a hypospray and recalibrated its settings. "I don't think that the trauma he has undoubtedly suffered is the only cause of Commander Tucker's current condition."

Malcolm closed his eyes; how could this possibly get any worse?

"I've noticed similar symptoms with the rest of the away team," Phlox continued, and Malcolm noticed that he was keeping his voice down, concealing the hypospray behind his hand so that Trip couldn't possibly see it. "They seemed to be physically healthy when they first came back from the surface, although their mental state had me worried from the beginning. Like Commander Tucker, they seemed to be feeling uncomfortable in sickbay so I sent them to their quarters to rest. After a while, however, I was alerted by their roommates, or, in Captain Archer's case, by Subcommander T'Pol whom I had asked to check on the Captain after her shift. " He met Malcolm's eyes. "All four men showed signs of paranoia, seemingly irrational fear, and unawareness of their surroundings. I'm afraid we will have to take the Commander to sickbay."

Malcolm looked over at Trip who was still shaking as if he were suffering from a high fever. "What happened to them down there?" he said, barely aware that his voice had dropped to a whisper.

"I don't know," Phlox said quietly. "I believe I may have some answers soon, but I will need to do extended scans to verify my theory. In the meantime, I strongly suggest that we persuade the Commander to leave his quarters and follow us to sickbay. I assume you'll want to stay with him?"

Malcolm nodded. "He's not going to-"

"I know, Lieutenant," Phlox interrupted him - it was uncharacteristic of the impeccably mannered doctor to do so, and a sure sign that he was upset. "Commander Tucker isn't going to leave here willingly. Lieutenant, if you would..." He nodded in Trip's direction, then indicated the hypospray. "I believe I'm going to need your assistance."

Malcolm nodded, although he hated the idea of "conspiring" with the doctor to trick Trip into being sedated. But Phlox was right; he was probably the only person Trip would allow to come close to him in his current state of mind. Careful to keep his hand out of Trip's field of vision, Malcolm took the injection device from Phlox and slowly approached the trembling man.

"Trip," he said. Trip looked up briefly, then withdrew back into himself, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

"Go 'way, Mal."

Malcolm had to strain his ears to understand the words, and although Trip was unmistakably telling him to bugger off, Malcolm's heart soared hopefully at Trip's use of his name, the shortened form that only he would use. Avoiding any quick movements, he got to one knee beside the chair and leaned a little closer so that he was able to look at Trip's face.

"It's alright, love. I realize that you're not feeling well, and we're here to help you. But to be able to do so, we need to get you to sickbay."

Trip only shook his head, turning his face away. "Leave me alone."

"Trip, please." Malcolm exchanged a glance with the doctor, who nodded, silently encouraging him to use the hypospray the armory officer still held hidden in one hand. Malcolm turned back to his partner, deciding to give it one more try.

"Trip, I need you to come with me and Dr. Phlox. Please."

This time, Trip didn't even bother to answer, and only closed his eyes in response. Malcolm hesitated, wishing he didn't have to do this, and then pressed the spray against Trip's neck, giving the injector one quick turn so that the sedative was ejected into Trip's bloodstream. Trip's eyes opened for a split second, showing a startled expression, and then closed again as he slumped forward into Malcolm's arms. Malcolm remained in his kneeling position for another one or two seconds, feeling Trip's heartbeat under his hands. Then he got up, slid one arm under Trip's shoulders and the other one under his knees and carefully lifted his unconscious partner out of the chair. The taller man's weight had him staggering before he could regain his balance.

"I can call someone to come down here with a stretcher," Phlox offered, but Malcolm shook his head. He was trained to carry heavier weights than this, and besides, the idea of letting someone else take care of Trip didn't sit well with him. Right now, all he wanted to do was hold Trip, watch over him and make sure that he wasn't hurt - ever again. Irrational, maybe, over-protective, obsessive behavior, maybe, but it was how he felt.

He followed Phlox out into the hallway, and startled when he took a look at Trip's face in the bright light of the corridor lamps. Every centimeter of Trip's skin seemed to be dripping with sweat, and his hair looked as if he had just come in out of a rainstorm - which wasn't surprising, all things considered; under all those clothes, Trip must be sweating as if in his own personal sauna. What was a lot more unsettling, however, was the deadly pallor of his partner's skin, and the way his lips had taken on almost the same pasty gray as his cheeks and forehead. Almost as if he were...

"Doctor," Malcolm said, and Phlox turned around. "Look at his face. That can't be normal."

"It's not." The doctor took out his scanner, and his face darkened at what he saw on the display. "Just as I'd thought."

"What?" Malcolm asked, unable to keep his growing frustration - and anxiety - out of his voice. "What's going on with Trip? Is he..." Malcolm stopped himself before he could say the words that had sprung to his mind without warning. _He is **not** going to die_. "Is he going to be okay?"

"I believe so." Phlox tucked away his scanner. "But I cannot tell for certain yet. We need to hurry."

Malcolm followed the Denobulan down the corridor, resigning to the fact that he would not get any answers from the doctor, at least not right now. To a certain extent, he could sympathize with Phlox' reluctance to share any theories before he had run the necessary tests to prove them; on the other hand, all he wanted was for the doctor to tell him that Trip was going to be all right, that this was only a harmless side effect of... whatever. Malcolm didn't care, as long as this... whatever it was... didn't hurt Trip.

Fortunately, they encountered only one crewmember on the way to sickbay - Ensign Summers, whose eyes widened when she saw her head of department carry an ill-looking Chief Engineer along the corridor.

"Is... is Commander Tucker all right?" she asked timidly. Malcolm forced himself to pull his face into a reassuring smile, although it turned out more like a grimace.

"We hope so," he said, quickening his pace to get past the young woman so she wouldn't see the bruises on Trip's face. The last thing they needed in this nightmarish situation was for the crew to start spreading rumors about what had happened.

Over his shoulder, he saw her watching them as they left, looking as if she wanted to say something, but then she seemed to decide against it.

"See... see you tomorrow, sir."

To his own surprise, Malcolm found it within himself to drag up another smile for her. "Ensign."

He felt her eyes on his back, and tightened his arms on Trip's unconscious body. Malcolm realized he should probably worry about what Summers was going to tell her roommate when she got back to her quarters, but right now the only concern he had was his partner, the man in his arms whom he, Malcolm Reed, had failed to protect.

His arms aching with the heavy weight, Malcolm followed Phlox into sickbay, and at the doctor's request laid Trip down on the rolling bed of the body scanner.

"I've already run these scans on the Captain, Lieutenant Peters and Ensigns Kelsey and Florez," Phlox said while gently removing Trip's jacket and sweater. He laid them aside, and began to pull the sweat-stained shirt over Trip's head. "They all showed slightly different results, although I believe I'm beginning to recognize a certain pattern in their brainwaves. There," he said, working Trip's right hand out of the shirt's sleeve, and placing the limp arm at the unconscious man's side. "That should do."

Malcolm watched him worriedly as he slid the bed into the imaging chamber. "He's not going to wake up in there, is he?"

Phlox shook his head and initiated the scanning process. "The sedative I gave him should last for another two hours," he said. "And it should keep him from experiencing any more nightmares."

Malcolm nodded and leaned against a nearby bio bed, allowing himself to close his eyes for a moment. Suddenly he realized how tired he was; he had been running on pure adrenaline since Trip's nightmare had woken them both, and although he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, it was hard to ignore his aching body and swollen eyes. Probably felt even worse because he had cried; Malcolm couldn't remember the last time he had allowed himself to cry, and had experienced that sore, burning feeling in his eyes afterwards. It had to be years ago. Reed men didn't cry; somehow he had never been able to rid himself off the childhood mantra that had been drummed into him whenever he had failed to live up to his family's expectations. There had been times when it had been hard to follow that motto - his first few months on Enterprise came to mind, those long weeks when he had felt lonely, insecure and weighed down by the responsibility for the safety of 83 living beings - and there had been times when shedding tears had been the very last thing on Malcolm's mind. Like the last six months, ever since he had woken up in sickbay, his body sick with exhaustion and hypothermia, his heart soaring with the knowledge that his world had changed, forever. Completely unexpectedly so, of course, a thing that had caused both of them no little worry and self-doubt in the beginning. Charlie Tucker, the alleged ladies' man (Trip had admitted to him that this image was mostly based on people's assumptions, and that there was depressingly little fact to substantiate it), and Malcolm Stuart Reed, the "uptight" Brit whose love life up to that point had consisted of a number of short, very complicated relationships with a number of very complicated women, whose main complaint about Malcolm seemed to be that he was... well, that he was being too Malcolm. Unable to change anything about that fact, Malcolm had his heart broken time and again, and eventually decided that he was safer obsessing about his work than about some woman who was bound to leave him after a few months for reasons he could not comprehend. The point, however, was, that neither he nor Trip had ever considered themselves to be... whatever today's politically correct term was for "swinging both ways". But there was no denying those blurry hours back in the freezing shuttlepod when they had huddled together under the thin Starfleet issue blankets, had shared their body warmth, rubbed each others arms and legs to get warm, and had suddenly both turned their heads at the same time, their lips touching in a first, gentle, absolutely unanticipated kiss. Malcolm recalled the shock and surprise Trip's eyes that had turned into something like dawning realization, all during that one, frozen second after they had first kissed. Trip had been the first to break the silence, smiling, saying "What the hell" and kissing Malcolm a second time, and Malcolm had kissed back. They had spent their last few hours of air (and, as they had believed at that point, the last hours of their life) cuddled up under the blankets, talking about how your life could change in a single second, and all you could do was stand there and let it happen and wonder why you hadn't realized before. At some point, the talking had ceased for lack of air and consciousness on both sides, and Malcolm remembered that his last thought had been that there were worse ways to die. He hadn't expected to wake up again. It figured, he'd thought, that it would end there; this was, after all, how life worked for Malcolm Reed. You spent all your time searching, and when you had finally found what you'd been looking for, some benevolent deity glanced at their wrist watch and announced that it was about time to go, Malcolm old chap. Where's the joke, the irony if we let you stay any longer? Mission accomplished, I'd say.

But somebody must have fiddled with Providence this time; after all, he had not only woken up again, but had woken up to find himself confronted with a very nervous Trip Tucker, who had stuttered and stammered and finally asked if this was going to be something best forgotten about, or if it was going to continue. And to Malcolm's complete and utter happiness, they had found themselves agreeing on the second option. It turned out to be the best decision he had ever made in his life.

_And still is_, Malcolm thought, opening his eyes again and staring at the closed door of the scanning chamber. _It still is._

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a movement and turned his head to see that Phlox had come to stand next to him, watching him with a concerned expression on his face.

"Lieutenant, I suggest you lie down while I complete my scans. You've had a rough night."

Malcolm shook his head. "Thanks doc. I'd rather stay awake at the moment."

To Malcolm's surprise, instead of fussing and scolding, the doctor only sighed and leaned next to him against the biobed.

"Yes. Yes, of course." Phlox paused. "Lieutenant, I'm very sorry about what happened to the Commander. I'd like you to know that I'm here for you whenever you need me."

Malcolm nodded, touched by the open concern in the doctor's voice. "Thank you, doctor." After a brief hesitation he added, "Is... is Trip going to be all right again? Can he be all right again?"

Phlox sighed. "I'm not certain what is causing the Commander's current... physical response, but I'm fairly certain it can be medically treated. His psychological condition, however..."

Malcolm raised his head. "Yes?"

The doctor met his eyes evenly. "Commander Tucker is very likely suffering from RTS. Rape Trauma Syndrome."

Malcolm shook his head. He'd never heard of such a thing before.

Phlox continued to explain, "The victim of a sexual assault will show a number of emotional responses to the extreme stress he or she's been through. I'd call it a coping mechanism, employed by the human mind to deal with a deeply traumatic experience such as rape."

Malcolm swallowed. "Emotional responses?"

"Intense fear, flashbacks, distressing dreams, feelings of depression and detachment... there are many ways in which the symptoms will assert themselves. In cases of rape, the road to recovery is never a straight line."

Malcolm nodded. Somewhere, he'd known all this, but hearing it from the doctor made things even more real, more disheartening. "What... what can I do?" he asked, trying to sound confident, as if he had no doubt in his heart that he would be able to help Trip.

"Be there for him," Phlox replied immediately. "Listen. Tell him that it wasn't his fault, no matter how obvious that may seem to you. I assume you and the Commander are in a loving relationship?"

Malcolm nodded, allowing the tiniest of smiles to steal onto his face. "Yes, we are."

Phlox answered his smile, although the expression was a lot more subdued than his usual bright grin. "That is good to hear. Your support and care will play a decisive role in the Commander's return to health. He needs to know that you feel no differently towards him, that you still want to be with him..."

"Of course I do!" Malcolm exclaimed despite himself.

"I know," Phlox continued patiently, "but you'll have to make sure that Commander Tucker knows as well. It's common for rape survivors to experience feelings of low self-esteem, so you'll need to tell him again and again until he realizes that you're serious." He paused. "You realize, Lieutenant, that you're going to have to be careful about the... ah... physical side of your relationship..."

Malcolm nodded quickly, having no desire to discuss the "physical aspects" with the doctor, Ph.D. in psychiatry or not. "I know."

Phlox nodded. "I'm glad you say so. Lieutenant, I..."

A soft chime from the scan unit interrupted him. The sliding door opened, releasing the rolling bed, and Malcolm went over to his partner's side. Trip was still unconscious, although he appeared slightly more relaxed than he had when the door of the scanner had closed behind him. Malcolm took Trip's left hand in both of his own, and squeezed it gently.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he whispered. "Dr. Phlox is going to make you feel better in no time."

He raised his head to see what Phlox was doing. The doctor stood in front of the screen, studying the data with a darkening frown on his face. After a moment's contemplation he pressed a few buttons and the image on the monitor changed, now showing five sets of readings instead of one.

"Doctor?" Malcolm asked.

Phlox didn't turn his head to look at him, his eyes still fixed on the screen. "Only slight discrepancies," he muttered, apparently thinking aloud. "But I don't understand how..."

Malcolm carefully placed Trip's hand back at the sleeping man's side and went over to look at the monitor, where Phlox had now highlighted several parts of the five data readings.

"What is it?" he asked, and finally the doctor met his eyes.

"Commander Tucker's brain scan shows the same irregularities as the other four," he said. "Increased neurotransmitter activity in the limbic system."

"What does that mean?" Malcolm wanted to know.

Phlox' attention was still focused on the scan results. "The limbic system controls memories and emotions, Lieutenant. I'm fairly certain that the away team's distraught state of mind results from the alteration in their brain chemistry."

"But why was there any alteration in the first place?" Malcolm asked. "Are they in danger?"

"I don't think so," the doctor said, and reached out to call up a side menu on the screen. "The abnormal neurological activity seems to be decreasing. If I'm not mistaken, their brain chemistry's about to return to normal, and it seems that this is why they collapsed all of a sudden. I'm afraid I can't tell you what caused the irregularity in the first place, Lieutenant; I haven't collected enough data yet to come up with a hypothesis. This might be an explanation, however, why..."

He broke off, as if he had only just realized what he was about to say. "I'll let you know when I have analyzed the scan results," he finished a little too quickly.

"An explanation for what, doctor?" Malcolm asked, refusing to go along with the doctor's change of subject. "If this has anything to do with Trip, then I want to know."

"Lieutenant..." Phlox turned to look at him, and Malcolm nearly startled when he saw the profound sadness in the doctor's eyes. "I'm not sure if this is something you want to know."

Malcolm said nothing, waiting for the doctor to continue. Phlox averted his eyes, obviously resigning to the fact that Malcolm wouldn't let it go until he had been told what he wanted to know.

"I've analyzed the sample I took from Commander Tucker," he said very softly. Malcolm suddenly found it hard to speak past the lump in his throat.

"And?"

Phlox regarded him for a moment, then, silently, handed him a padd that had been lying on a nearby shelf. Malcolm activated the display and saw the image of three DNA strings, obviously the genetic material Phlox had extracted from the sample, and three matching strings beneath. He read what was written next to the matching images, and his legs suddenly felt too weak to carry him. Malcolm barely noticed what he was doing as he stumbled over to a biobed, and almost fell as he leaned against it. The padd dropped unnoticed to the floor. "Lieutenant..."

Malcolm realized that Phlox had come to stand beside him, resting a careful hand on his arm, but he found himself unable to respond. It was as if all feelings, all thoughts had been drained from his mind, leaving only an empty void behind.

On the padd next to him on the floor, three names were highlighted next to the DNA strings: Lieutenant John Peters, Ensign Martin Kelsey and Ensign Ramon Florez.

* * *

TBC... 

Please let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Title**: Killing Thing

**Author**: Sita Z

**Genre**: Angst/Drama

**Rating**: PG 13

**AN: **Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter 3!

---------------

Chapter 4

"Where are they?" Malcolm raised his head. He wasn't surprised when Phlox tightened his grip on his arm.

"Lieutenant..."

"Where are they?" He shook off the restraining hand and stepped away from the doctor, his eyes coming to rest on a door at the far end of the room.

The Intensive Care Unit was a separated part of sickbay, fully equipped with an airlock-like entrance, a small decontamination cubicle and four isolated beds. Enterprise's designers had originally intended it as a sickroom for patients with communicable diseases, but so far, the crew had been spared any illnesses that required quarantine procedures. Phlox sometimes used the separated space as a recovery room for patients who had just come out of surgery, and Malcolm recalled one rather undignified occasion when he had been locked in there overnight after sneaking out on the doctor (Captain Archer had ruined his escape at the time by discovering him in the Armory and dragging him back to sickbay). The embarrassment of being handed over to a furious doctor by his Captain was still vivid in Malcolm's mind, but there was another thing he remembered from the experience, and right now, it was the only thing that held any interest for him: the door to the isolation unit could be locked only with the doctor's own private code.

"They're in the ICU, right?"

He never waited for the doctor's confirmation, walking across the room towards the locked door, but Phlox was quicker. He brushed past him and blocked the way to the ICU, resting his hands on the door frame as if to physically stop Malcolm from going any further.

"I cannot allow you to go in there, Lieutenant."

The idea of pushing the doctor aside and short-circuiting the door panel crossed his mind, but only for a split second.

"Doctor," he said, still in that strange, hollow tone. "I only want to... to talk to them."

At that point, he wasn't even sure whether he was lying or not.

"Lieutenant," Phlox continued, still not budging, "Lieutenant Peters and the two Ensigns are in no condition to talk to you. They were brought to sickbay about three hours ago, and have been under sedation for about an hour and a half. Going in there will accomplish nothing."

Malcolm stared at him, and then, slowly, he stepped away from the doctor. "Just keep that door locked," he said quietly. He hated for Trip to be so close to the people who had done this terrible thing to him, and wanted to make sure that there was at least one firm bulkhead between them. And, if he was being completely honest, the locked door also prevented himself from going in there. Malcolm wasn't so sure he'd be responsible for his actions if he did.

Phlox nodded in silent understanding. "I will."

Malcolm nodded his agreement - and froze in mid-movement. "The Captain's not in there, is he?"

"No." Phlox had lowered his arms again, and taken a step away from the door. "I had the three crewmen moved in there after I'd received the results of the DNA test; I assumed it might be... easier, given the current situation, to have them isolated. Also, I can't be entirely sure that their altered brain chemistry won't lead to more aggressive behavior. The Captain is over there."

He gestured at a bio bed at the other end of the room. The privacy curtains hid the occupant from sight, but the steady flashing of the monitor indicated that there was a person asleep on the bed.

"Is... is he alright?" Malcolm asked, following the doctor back to the scan unit.

"He's unconscious, and his brain waves are erratic," Phlox replied. "I talked to him briefly after his return from the surface, and although he appeared somewhat disoriented, he didn't seem to know about what happened to the Commander."

Malcolm swallowed. He didn't want to articulate his next question, but he needed to know. "Are you certain, doctor? He... he didn't..."

"I'm fairly certain that Captain Archer had nothing to do with the assault," Phlox said. "And the alteration seems to have affected him less than Lieutenant Peters and the two ensigns, although I have no explanation why that would be so."

Malcolm stepped back to the bed where his partner lay unconscious. The sweat on Trip's forehead had dried, and his hair stuck up in unruly spikes, as if he hadn't combed it in days. Somehow, it made him look very young and vulnerable, and Malcolm felt something tighten in his chest. It was one of the many things he loved about Trip - the way he sometimes looked like a little boy in his sleep. The way he'd disappear back under the sheets in the morning - "'nly a f'w m're m'nits, darlin'" - and look more like a sulking child than anything else when Malcolm finally managed to drag him out just in time to shower and get dressed before their shift began. More often than not, Malcolm had granted his partner far more "minutes" than they could actually afford, simply because he loved to watch Trip sleep. Now, however, the sight only hardened the lump in his throat. The idea of someone hurting this man tore Malcolm's soul apart, and the fact that someone he knew - people he had placed his _trust_ in - had done so was something he found himself barely able to comprehend.

"Do you think it was this... alteration in their brains that made them do it?" he asked, barely noticing that his voice had dropped to a whisper. Phlox came to stand next to him and rested a gentle hand on his arm.

"I believe so," he said quietly. "I've never known any of these men to be violent or unstable. This... is a tragic situation, Lieutenant, for everyone concerned."

Malcolm supposed that the doctor was right, but he couldn't bring himself to feel anything but rage and disgust when he thought of the three men behind the door of the IC unit. In the end, it didn't matter why they had done it - the pain Trip had suffered couldn't be undone by a logical explanation.

Phlox withdrew his hand, turning back to his patient.

"I'm going to need your help to move the Commander to a biobed," he said, and Malcolm nodded, carefully scooping Trip up in his arms again so that his head came to rest against Malcolm's shoulder.

"Are you sure he can't stay in his quarters, doctor?" he asked, although he realized what the answer was going to be. Still, Malcolm knew Trip would have preferred to be somewhere private, away from prying eyes.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," Phlox said. "As long as his brain scans are still showing those irregularities, he'll have to stay here in sickbay."

Malcolm nodded, and, walking slowly with the heavy weight on his arms, carried Trip to the biobed Phlox showed him, one that was two beds away from Archer's.

"I'd like to give the Commander as much privacy as possible," the doctor said as a way of explanation, and Malcolm met Phlox' eyes in mute agreement.

Gently, he laid Trip down on the adjustable mattress, making sure that he was resting comfortably before he let go of him. Phlox stood aside as Malcolm took a pillow and several blankets from a nearby shelf and went back to his partner's side. He slid the pillow under Trip's head, and smoothed the hair out of the sleeping man's forehead before he covered him with the blankets and tucked him in.

"I'm going to stay with him," he said without looking at the doctor. To his surprise, Phlox never even tried to dissuade him, disappearing into an adjoining room to come back with a chair and a spare blanket.

"Maybe you can try and sleep a little while you're here," he said as he set the chair down next to Trip's bed. Malcolm nodded, and didn't protest when the doctor wrapped the blanket around his shoulders.

"Thank you, doctor." He took a seat, and reached out for Trip's hand, holding it in both of his own. It was warm and callused under his fingers, and it felt familiar. Somehow, holding Trip's hand made him calmer.

"I'll be here when you need me, Lieutenant," Phlox said quietly, and Malcolm knew he wasn't only talking about being within earshot. He looked up at the doctor.

"Thank you."

Phlox nodded, closing the privacy curtain behind him so that Trip's bed and Malcolm sitting next to it were separated from the main room. Malcolm heard his steps withdraw, and a minute later the sound of leaves rustling and soft squeaking told him that Phlox was serving his various pets their early-morning meal.

Trip didn't even stir at the sound; he was still deep in his drug-induced unconsciousness. Malcolm hoped that it was a dreamless sleep, free from nightmares or flashbacks of what had occurred on the planet. The way Trip had cried out when he'd woken from his earlier nightmare hadn't left much to imagination what the dream had been about. Malcolm closed his eyes, wishing he could chase away the terrible images, both from Trip's memories and his own mind. He didn't want to think of what they'd done, how it had happened, although Trip's injuries pretty much spoke for themselves. He wasn't sure if he was ready to deal with all this pain, both his own and that of his partner. All he really wanted was something he knew wouldn't happen; he wanted for it all to go away, like a small child closing his eyes to make the monsters disappear. Only that this time, the monsters were going to stay, for days, months, maybe years to come. They were going to be there, every hour and every minute, and no one could possibly live with their eyes closed for so long.

Malcolm noticed that he had clenched his fingers around Trip's hand and carefully loosened his grip, his thumb stroking the back of Trip's hand.

"It's going to be alright, Trip," he whispered. "I'm here. And I know that you're going to be fine. I... just know." He swallowed. "We'll go through this together. It's not going to be easy, but hey." He smiled, and barely noticed how hoarse his voice sounded. "We got out of that bloody shuttlepod together, remember? We made it then, and this is going to be no different. We're going to make it together."

He leaned closer to Trip and cupped the other man's face in his right hand. "And when you're feeling better... when you're feeling better, we'll go somewhere, somewhere nice and sunny... just the two of us. You can take your scuba gear, and I promise I'll come with you to the beach, as long as I don't have to go in. Well, maybe I'll wade around a little in the shallows, if the water's really warm... and don't even think about dunking me under, Mr. Tucker. But I'd like that... no one else... just you and me..."

He couldn't continue and closed his eyes again, feeling something warm trickle down the side of his face. Hell, tonight he'd probably shed more tears than in the last five years put together, but he couldn't do anything about it. Maybe it was feeling so helpless and so angry at the same time that did it to him.

Malcolm talked for a long time, telling his sleeping partner about a white beach, about palm trees and sunshine, and all the while hoped that somewhere deep down Trip could hear him and understood what he was saying. Or at least was aware of his voice, and maybe found some comfort in it. At some point, he thought he felt Trip's hand move under his own, his fingers curling slightly around Malcolm's, but it was probably just Trip moving in his sleep. Malcolm never let go of him, and when he finally fell asleep, it was with his head resting on the edge of the bed until Phlox came back and gently sat him up in his chair.

---------------

Malcolm woke to the sound of voices talking nearby. Pain throbbed at the back of his neck, and he realized that he'd been sleeping in a rather awkward position, slumped forward in his chair, his chin resting on his chest. He sat up, causing several muscles in his back to scream in protest, and noticed that even in his sleep, he hadn't let go of Trip's hand. Trip was still asleep, his fingers resting limply in Malcolm's own.

Malcolm blinked the sleep out of his eyes, and reached out to run a hand across Trip's forehead, smoothing away an unruly strand of hair that had fallen into his partner's eyes. He wondered how long he'd been asleep, when the voices caught his attention again.

"... know what happened, doc." The Captain's voice, sounding hoarse and weak.

"Captain, please lie back down. You shouldn't try to sit up just yet."

A sigh followed, and Malcolm assumed that the Captain had followed Phlox' order, since there was no further protest from the doctor. Briefly, he hesitated - leaving Trip's side, even for a short time, didn't sit well with him - but then he got up and carefully placed his partner's hand back on the bed.

"I'll be right back, love," he whispered. "I just want to see if the Captain's alright."

Trip, of course, didn't react, and quietly, Malcolm slipped past the curtain, making sure to draw it back into place before he turned around.

"Ah, Lieutenant!" Phlox, standing at Archer's bedside, smiled at him and a rather exhausted looking Captain turned his head in Malcolm's direction.

"Malcolm! Are you alright?"

At first, Malcolm was surprised by the question - until he realized that Archer must find it rather strange that he was here in sickbay, at this time of the day (or rather, night) nonetheless.

Fortunately, however, Phlox interrupted before Malcolm had to come up with an explanation of his own.

"The Lieutenant's perfectly fine, Captain," he said brightly. "He's here to see Commander Tucker."

Malcolm met the doctor's eyes, silently thanking him for his discretion, and Phlox slightly bowed his head.

Archer didn't seem to have noticed the mute exchange between the two of them; he still seemed rather groggy, blinking and raising his hand to cover a yawn.

"How are you feeling, Captain?" Malcolm asked as he stepped closer to Archer's bed. The Captain sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Like a Vulcan spaceshuttle landed on my head," he said. He lowered his hand, giving Malcolm a closer look, and his eyebrows drew together in apparent concern.

"You sure you're alright, Malcolm? You look... exhausted."

"I'm fine, sir," Malcolm replied - a little too quickly, as he realized himself. Secretly, he cursed himself for not taking the time to wash his face before he went to see the Captain.

Archer studied him for another moment, then, to Malcolm's relief, decided to let it go and turned back to Phlox instead.

"You still haven't answered my question, doctor. What's going on? And where is the rest of the team?" He sat up again, and this time, Phlox didn't try to push him back down. "Are they alright?"

Phlox spared a quick glance at the monitor above Archer's head. "Captain, what is the last thing you remember?"

The Captain brows drew together. "I remember being in the Hall of Negotiation, with Minister Ma'kih and several of her administrators. She'd compiled a list with "ideal gifts", as she called it, the compensation she wanted for the dilithium... she'd made it quite clear that she didn't approve of my "escort" being present at the negotiations, so I told Trip and the security team to stay back at the embassy in our suite..." Archer trailed off, obviously having difficulties to remember. "It... it all seems to blur at that point... I think I wasn't feeling too well, and Ma'kih asked me if I wanted to lie down for a while. She seemed concerned, but I declined, I wanted to get those negotiations done..." He shook his head. "I can't really remember what happened next. I must have passed out at some point."

"Actually, Captain," Phlox said, regarding Archer with a mixture of concern and compassion, "I don't believe you passed out at all, even though you seem to have no recollection of the last two hours of your stay."

"What are you talking about, doc?" The Captain sounded impatient now.

"Subcommander T'Pol said that you were all quite awake when she came to take you back to Enterprise. Awake, but... behaving irrationally. None of you answered any of her questions, you only stared apathetically into space and flinched when you were touched. She said that all of you appeared... afraid, both of each other and your surroundings. Your condition had improved somewhat when you arrived here in sickbay, which is why I discharged you after the examination. A rather gross misjudgment on my part, I'm afraid."

"T'Pol came to pick us up?" Archer frowned. "I have no recollection of that. I don't even remember calling the ship."

"You didn't. It was Minister Ma'kih who informed us that you wished to be taken back to your ship. That was all she said. When the Subcommander and Ensigns Mayweather and Hsan arrived with Shuttlepod II, none of the Ru'khi were present at the landing site. They had taken you back to your shuttlepod along with the dilithium and left an electronic message on a padd, asking the Subcommander to transport down the "gifts of compensation" as soon as she got back to the ship. They have not answered our hails ever since."

Archer's face had darkened as he listened to the doctor's report. "I've got a feeling that you're not telling me everything, doc."

Phlox sighed. "Captain, it's... not that easy."

"I vaguely remember being in sickbay at some point," Archer pressed on. "What about the others?"

"I examined all of you after your return, but for the most part I couldn't find anything physically wrong with you, so I released you to your quarters to rest. Several hours later, I was alerted by the Subcommander that you seemed to have lapsed into a state of unawareness. I had you taken to sickbay, and discovered an imbalance in your brain chemistry. I presume it had been there all along, but your condition deteriorated only when the abnormal neurotransmitter activity began to decrease again. Only a short time later, Lieutenant Peters, Ensigns Kelsey and Florez and Commander Tucker were brought here with the same problem. They're still unconscious, Captain. And I'm sorry," he continued when Archer opened his mouth, "I don't know what caused the alteration, although I'm fairly certain I will have some answers for you after I've performed a more thorough analysis of your brain scans. All I can say at the moment is that your EEG readings have returned to normal."

Archer was silent for a moment, digesting the information. Then he asked, "Did this... alteration cause any damage to our brains?"

Phlox shook his head. "It doesn't seem so, Captain. From what I've learned so far, it just... disappeared. There's no indication of neurological damage on any of my scans."

Archer considered this, then ran a hand through his hair and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "I need to talk to T'Pol. We've got to find out what-"

"Captain." Phlox' voice had changed, from clinically scientific to subdued, and Malcolm knew without looking at the doctor what was to come next. Briefly, he closed his eyes, inwardly steeling himself for what Phlox was going to say. The doctor was right, of course, Archer needed to know, both as Captain of the Enterprise and Trip's best friend. What made things even harder, however, was that said best friend didn't know about Trip's relationship with Malcolm Reed. Hell, until tonight no one had known - which Malcolm considered a small miracle, considering that they'd been together for almost half a year, on a starship with eighty-three people living in relatively close quarters. Might have been pure luck - or careful discretion especially on Malcolm's part - that no one had found out yet. Or maybe it was just that no one in their wildest dreams expected the two of them to be in a loving relationship - the outgoing Southerner and the uptight Brit, the popular Chief Engineer and the stiff, reticent Armory Officer, the man who was involved in every party and social event on Enterprise and the man who had to be dragged to said events by his hair so he participated at all. No, maybe it wasn't all that surprising that no one had become suspicious. Trip, of course, had often mentioned that he wanted to tell Jon about them - once or twice they'd even ended up arguing - but Malcolm had always felt reluctant about the idea, fearing that the crew - and the Captain in particular - would disapprove. He wanted his private life to be exactly that - private - and in the end, Trip had always, if grudgingly, respected Malcolm's wishes.

Now, however, the situation had changed, in a bad way, and Malcolm realized that not telling anyone simply wasn't an option anymore. Actually, there had been times when he'd almost agreed to tell the Captain, as he'd felt bad about forcing Trip to keep something so important from his best friend of nine years. But he'd never - never - intended for Archer to find out like this.

"Doctor?"

The Captain's questioning voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Phlox had folded his hands on the edge of the bed, and was obviously trying his hardest to appear calm.

"I believe there's something else you need to know."

The Captain raised his eyebrows, waiting for the doctor to go on.

Phlox briefly lowered his eyes before continuing. "There's been an... incident while you were on the planet. Commander Tucker..."

Again, the doctor hesitated. Archer sat up straighter.

"What about Trip? Is he alright?"

Phlox exchanged a look with Malcolm, and Malcolm saw the same helplessness he felt in the doctor's strange blue eyes.

"Not really. He..."

"What?" Archer demanded, now sounding positively alarmed. "Is he injured, or... doctor!"

Phlox straightened his back. "Commander Tucker has been sexually assaulted, Captain. I'm sorry."

Archer's face went pale. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again and swallowed, hard, before he whispered: "_What_?"

Phlox continued quietly, "We noticed only a few hours after your return, since the Commander had locked himself into his quarters and refused to speak to anyone. It was Lieutenant Reed who was eventually successful in approaching Mr. Tucker."

The Captain slowly shook his head, as if to deny what he had heard. He swallowed again, then asked: "Do... do you know who did it?"

Phlox closed his eyes, then looked back at the Captain with the same sadness and regret Malcolm had seen when the doctor had informed him about the test results.

"Yes, Captain. I've analyzed a sample I took from the Commander, and the genetic material matches with that of Lieutenant Peters and Ensigns Kelsey and Florez. I can't tell you how sorry I am, Captain."

Malcolm saw his own shock and disbelief on the Captain's face. "They..." Archer's voice became a hoarse whisper. "They raped Trip?"

"It seems so, Captain." The doctor's eyes seemed overly bright, and Malcolm wasn't sure if it was only the reflected light from the ceiling lamp. "I have no other explanation for my findings."

Archer stared at Phlox for another second, then he slid off the bio bed. "Where is he?"

Malcolm surprised himself by speaking up. "He's over there, sir. He's still sleeping."

Without looking at either of them, the Captain crossed the short distance to Trip's bed and pulled the curtain aside. Malcolm hesitated, then he caught the doctor's eyes and saw Phlox nod. And he realized what the doctor was trying to tell him. If he was going to be there for his partner, it wasn't enough to help Trip and support him when he needed it the most. He couldn't simply shut everyone else out, and act as if this were a matter between him and Trip and nobody else.

Slowly, Malcolm walked across the room until he came to stand next to the Captain. Looking at Archer's face, he saw that the Captain's eyes were bright with tears, something Malcolm never thought he'd ever see.

"Captain," he said, and found himself resting a hand on Archer's arm. The Captain shook his head.

"Why?" he said softly, almost if he were talking to himself. "Why would they do such a thing?"

"I don't know," Malcolm answered. For a brief moment, he felt as if their roles were reversed, him being the one who gave the answers and offered support instead of the other way around. And it was then that Malcolm made a decision.

He reached out for Trip's hand and took it in both of his own, as he had done before. Archer turned his head and gave him a surprised look. Deep down in his stomach, Malcolm experienced a nervous flutter, but he forced his voice to sound calm.

"Captain, I... I want you to know that I'm going to be there for him."

Archer's eyes dropped to their joined hands, then traveled back up to Malcolm's face. For a moment, neither of them spoke, then Archer said quietly, "You never told me."

"No," Malcolm said, and felt a rush of hot shame. "That was my fault, Captain, I... I wasn't comfortable with the idea. I'm... sorry."

Archer nodded slowly, and his eyes returned to Trip. "He's going to need you," he said, so quietly that Malcolm almost didn't catch the words.

"Yes," Malcolm said. "I know."

Archer gave him a long look, the expression in his eyes inscrutable. For a while, he said nothing, and Malcolm realized that the Captain was measuring him, determined to make sure that he wouldn't become another source of hurt for his friend. Then, however, the Captain raised a hand and rested it on Malcolm's shoulder.

"I'm glad you say so, Malcolm."

Malcolm nodded, holding Archer's eyes until they both turned back to the sleeping Trip. And for the first time that night, Malcolm found himself feeling oddly relieved.

* * *

TBC 

Please let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

**Title**: Killing Thing

**Author**: Sita Z

**Genre**: Angst/Drama

**Rating**: PG 13

**AN: Please note that this chapter is rated R for violence!**

---------------

Chapter 5

Lieutenant John Peters lay awake, staring at the white ceiling. For some reason, the light in here was dimmer than in sickbay's main room, and the curtains that surrounded the four beds cast strangely shaped shadows on the walls and ceiling. His eyes traced the shadows as he listened to the soft breathing of Martin and Ramon, and finally came to rest on the IV hanger next to his bed. There was no tube leading from the hanger to either of his hands, and John supposed that he couldn't have been in here for very long. Usually, only long-term and/or dangerously injured patients were hooked up to the drip, and it was reassuring to know that he came under neither category.

John shifted a little, and noticed that he was wearing sickbay pajamas, those mint-green gowns that never quite lost the slight whiff of disinfectant. He remembered the smell from the two times he'd stayed in sickbay overnight; once after he'd received a rather nasty burn when handling a malfunctioning phase pistol, and a second time when he'd come down with the Argelian flu. Both times he'd fallen asleep with a distinct smell of citrus and soap in his nose, an odor he'd come to associate with this place.

Martin exhaled deeply in his sleep, almost a snore, and John realized that he was still tired, his head aching dully at a place right behind his left eyebrow. The last time he'd felt that way had been after Louisa's birthday party two months ago, when he'd been roped into that ridiculous drinking game. This time, however, he could not remember any drinking games involved...

An away mission. Yes, he remembered that much. An away mission with Captain Archer and Commander Tucker... for some reason, John flinched inwardly at the thought of the Commander. Something... something was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it, but the more he thought about it, the more he could feel it, a large, hard knot sitting deep in his chest. Something was terribly wrong, and it had to do with the away mission, although John could not remember what it was...

_"All set?"_

_Martin Kelsey grinned as he turned away from the weapons' locker, excitement written all over his freckled young face. Then again, John would have been surprised, had it been otherwise; it was only to be expected that his very first away mission had Martin bouncing off the walls._

_Ramon Florez, who stood next to him, smiled his nervous smile. "You'd better lock that door again, Martin, or the boss will have your head when we get back."_

_"Oh. Right." Martin turned back and slammed the door of the locker shut, punching in the security code. Both Ramon and John had flinched at the loud bang, and now shared a look of long-suffering patience. As Martin's roommate had said on several occasions, "that man could wake up the dead just by folding up his uniform"._

_On their way to the shuttle bay, Ramon kept checking the settings of his phase pistol, carefully inserting it into the holster each time only to pull it out again a few seconds later. John smothered a smile. As a Lieutenant, he'd been part of more than one away team in the last fourteen months, but he remembered very well how awed he had been the first time his feet had touched alien ground. No wonder Martin and Ramon were feeling a little nervous, each in their own way._

_John himself had to admit that he would have passed this time, if Reed had given them any choice. Although they were technically of the same rank, as Chief of Security the other Lieutenant still outranked him, and John knew better than to protest when he was assigned to the team. **No one** protested when they were assigned to an away team, and besides, his reason for not wanting to participate were... not something he wanted to share with anyone. And especially not with Lieutenant Reed._

_When they entered the shuttlebay, Captain Archer and the Commander were already waiting next to Shuttlepod I's open hatch._

_"Hey, guys," Tucker said, grinning at them. Ramon and Martin answered his grin (although on Florez' part it turned out more like a nervous grimace), but John did not smile back._

_"Commander," he replied._

_If Tucker had noticed his cool tone, then he didn't let it show. "Well, we'd better get goin'," he said, ducking through the hatch only to stick his head back out again. "You comin', Cap'n?"_

_The Captain grinned and held his hand out toward the open hatch. "After you, gentlemen," he said._

_"Yes, sir!" In his enthusiasm, Martin almost stumbled as he climbed inside, and blushed furiously when the Captain caught him by the arm to balance his fall._

_"Take it easy, Ensign." Archer smiled. "We're not leaving without you."_

_"Thank you, sir." Still somewhat red in the face, Martin slunk to one of the rear benches and took a seat next to Ramon, who, despite his nervousness, was apparently trying his hardest not to grin. Captain Archer closed the hatch behind himself, but instead of sitting down he went to the pilot seat and tapped on the backrest._

_"Let me take her out this time, Trip," he said. "Been months since I've had the chance to practice."_

_Tucker grinned and gave up the seat. "Sure thing, Cap'n."_

_John, who was sitting in one of the chairs behind the pilot seat, turned away when Tucker sat down next to him. He kept his gaze fixed on the helm, as if trying to memorize every move when the Captain powered up the thrusters, and carefully avoided the Commander's eyes._

_The stars appeared before the front window, and John heard Martin gasp softly in the back. Again, he found himself fighting a grin. It were the same stars Martin saw every morning when he got up and looked out the window, but that dampened the young ensign's enthusiasm not in the slightest. Martin seemed determined to enjoy every single minute, and his excitement was contagious. John watched the approaching surface of the planet below, suddenly feeling excited himself. If he could only avoid Tucker... he might even enjoy this mission._

John closed his eyes, his hands clenching the sheets. Things were coming back to him, rushing towards him with increasing speed, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He remembered their trip down to the surface, Martin's stare when they had first met the alien dignitaries... recalled how the unfamiliarly strong gravity had tugged at him when they had followed the Ru'khi to the embassy. John had kept his hand on his weapon holster, carefully scanning their surroundings, but no threat had declared itself and when they had taken their seats at the banquet table, he had almost allowed himself to relax. Almost.

_"On behalf of my team, I'd like to thank you for a wonderful dinner, Minister." Captain Archer raised his glass to the alien woman who was seated next to him. Minister Ma'kih was easily twenty centimeters taller than he, her skillfully piled-up hair adding to the impression, but she managed to make it seem as if they were on eye-level when she raised her own glass in response._

_"Consider it a welcoming gift to you and your escort," she replied. Her voice was as deep as a human male's, but with a sonorous timbre that was definitely female, alien or not. "We're delighted that you agreed to come for a visit."_

_John sighed inwardly; dinner had been enjoyable, more so than he had expected it to be, but he was growing rather weary of the seemingly endless exchange of courtesies. To the Ru'khi, it seemed very important to stress that Captain Archer and his team were guests on a visit, and so far, the word "dilithium" hadn't cropped up at all._

_Almost as if they were ashamed of doing business at all, John thought. The other Ru'khi at the table had kept a respectful silence while eating, and so Archer's "escort" had followed their example, concentrating on their food while the Captain and Ma'khi exchanged diplomatic phrases._

_With a ritual gesture, the Minister placed her glass on her plate and rose from the table, the Captain and Tucker doing the same. The other Ru'khi, even those who had still been eating, repeated the gesture, and John signalized to Martin and Ramon to get up as well. Obviously, dinner was over._

_"Captain Archer, if you please." The Minister gestured for the Captain to follow her. "The embassy grounds are most pleasant for a short walk."_

_John wasn't too happy, seeing the Captain leave in the company of Ma'khi and several of her administrators, but the Minister had made it very clear that any negotiations would only take place without the "escort" present. It did seem as though the Ru'khi considered business something that was best done behind closed doors._

_"Well, seems as if we're on our own for a while."_

_Tucker. John looked up and saw that the Commander was leaning against a nearby column, grinning at Martin and Ramon. "Havin' fun?"_

_The two ensigns smiled back and nodded. "Yes, sir."_

_John said nothing. He wished Tucker had gone with the Captain, but of course, he was part of the "escort" and as such not welcome at the negotiation table._

_"The Cap'n told me Ma'khi was gonna take him to the Hall of Negotiation, so this might take a while," Tucker continued. "How 'bout we go and have a look at the park outside? From what I've seen it's really nice."_

_Martin opened his mouth, but John cut him off. "Thanks, Commander," he said, not caring if he sounded contemptuous. In fact, contempt was all he felt for the man. "We'd rather stay here."_

_Martin and Ramon gave him surprised looks._

_"I'd like-" Martin began, but John silenced him with a glare._

_"We're staying here," he repeated more sharply._

_The Commander regarded him with raised eyebrows. "Somethin' the matter, John? There's no danger in havin' a look around."_

_At Tucker's use of his first name, John felt a hot surge of anger, but he managed to control it._

_"I think it's better if we stay here, sir. Florez, Kelsey and I, I mean."_

_Frowning, Tucker opened his mouth as if to add something, then he shrugged. "Well, suit yourself. I'm goin' for a walk. See ya later, guys," he added to Martin and Ramon._

_With that, he turned around and left, walking towards the big glass doors that led to the park. John watched him, and noticed that his hands were clenched to fists. How dare he talk to me like that? an angry voice hissed in his head. How dare he even stay on Enterprise... either of them?_

_John was barely aware of how his resentment had spiked up in only a few seconds, turning first into anger and then into rage. He stared at Tucker's retreating back, and suddenly felt the wish to wipe that insulting, imbecile smile off the man's face. Show him what the likes of him deserved._

_"John?"_

_He pulled his eyes away from Tucker, and looked at Ramon. The young ensign seemed worried._

_"Are you alright, John?"_

_John exhaled deeply. "Yeah," he said. "I'm fine."_

_Now that Tucker was gone, the sudden rage had become easier to control. John caught Ramon's confused look, and realized how strange his behavior must seem to the others. Back on the ship, he'd been careful to never let on about his dislike of Tucker - or their own Head of Department, for that matter. He knew that most people wouldn't tolerate his view of things, getting him into serious trouble if they went blabbing to the wrong person. And as long as he didn't have to interact with the two men other than taking Reed's instructions and turning the other way when he saw either of them in the messhall, John supposed that he was fine. Starfleet's policy of "Live and let live" was quite alright with him, as long as he could keep his distance._

_A few minutes ago, however... John couldn't remember ever feeling so mad before. He supposed that was the right word for it; he had come close to hauling off and smashing his fist into Tucker's grinning face. Only thinking about the man brought his anger back to the surface, and he turned away, striding towards the stairs._

_"John!"_

_Martin came running after him, slightly out of breath as he fell into pace next to the Lieutenant._

_"John, are you okay? Look, why don't we go with Commander Tucker, it's-"_

_"No." John cut him off and quickened his pace. Realizing how brusque he sounded, he added, "You can go, if you like. I'm staying here."_

_Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Martin and Ramon exchange a glance. Then, after a moment's hesitation, both men followed him to the broad marble staircase that led to the second floor._

John had no trouble recalling the conversation that had followed, upstairs in their suite. He hadn't been planning to answer Martin's and Ramon's questions, had never intended to tell them exactly why he had refused to go with Tucker. But the words had left his mouth before he could do anything about it, seemingly on their own accord. And he had been angry... angrier than ever before in his life.

_"I saw them in the observation lounge."_

_John turned away from the window and met two puzzled pairs of eyes._

_"Who are you talking about, John?" Ramon asked, rather carefully, as it seemed._

_"Reed and Tucker," John replied curtly, having no desire to go into the details. "I couldn't sleep, and so I decided to go for a walk in the corridors. For some reason, I went into the observation lounge, and that was when I saw them."_

_"Doing what?" Martin's face was one big question mark._

_John sighed inwardly. "Kissing," he said. Combined with the memory of what he had involuntarily witnessed, the word left a bad taste in his mouth. "I saw them kissing."_

_Martin's mouth dropped open. Ramon only blinked, but his voice betrayed surprise when he asked, "Are you sure?"_

_John nodded curtly. At the time, it had come as a shock to him, and he'd lain awake for most of the night, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Lieutenant Reed, a man he had respected and even admired, was actually a... a faggot. Being in Security, John had never really had anything to do with Tucker, but Malcolm Reed was the last man on the ship he would have expected to be... bent that way._

_"Wow." Martin seemed to have found his voice again. "I mean, I never would've thought either of them to be... You should listen to some of the girls talking, they're crazy about Tucker." He chuckled. "Wouldn't they be disappointed to know that he's snogging the boss instead."_

_Ramon didn't seem to know whether to smile or not, and eventually settled for a nervous snort. John turned away, pressing his lips together._

_"I think it's disgusting."_

_Martin stopped chuckling. Silence followed, and John, feeling a new wave of anger wash over him, continued._

_"I don't see how Starfleet can allow people like them to rise to the rank of Commander - or Lieutenant, for that matter. They're supposed to set an example for the crew!" He let out a humorless laugh. "Let's just hope no one follows that particular example."_

_Another stretch of silence followed his remark, then Ramon asked quietly, "Did they see you? I mean, that time you walked in on them."_

_John shook his head. "No."_

_They were silent for a while. John stared out the window without really seeing any of the alien trees and buildings outside, his mind occupied with the rage boiling inside him whenever he thought of Tucker and Reed. Back on the ship, avoiding them had seemed like a reasonable solution, but suddenly, for a reason unknown to himself, he found himself wishing he had done something a lot sooner. Talked to the Captain, maybe. Sent a message to Starfleet Command. Or taken matters in his own hands, as the new, hate-filled voice in his head suggested in a low whisper. Yeah, maybe that would have been the best solution. He doubted those incompetents back at Starfleet Command would have listened to him, and Archer would have booted him straight out of his ready room. The Captain? Take action against his best buddy, even though he was fucking another guy - or, as John was inclined to believe, **any** other guy who caught his fancy and was willing? Ridiculous._

_"You know..." Ramon's voice broke the silence, and John half-turned his head to look at him. "I don't really think it's a problem. As long as they keep quiet about it..."_

_"You a queer yourself?" John wasn't quite sure where the spiteful question had come from, but now he couldn't take it back - and on second thought he didn't really want to, either._

_"What?" Ramon's dark cheeks flushed with anger, and he half-rose from the chair he'd been sitting on. "I really don't know what's gotten into you, John!"_

_"I'm going to tell you what's gotten into me!" John snarled, his hands clenched to fists and shaking. He wanted to smash something, hurt someone, do something to finally release the mad fury that was pounding inside his head. "I've got a goddamn faggot for a boss who's probably slept his way to the position where he is today, and I'm working for an organization that doesn't even try to do something about that sort of thing happening among their senior staff! That's what's gotten into me!"_

_Ramon took a deep breath, but before he could say anything in response the door opened and Tucker, of all people, stuck his head inside._

_"Is everything alright?" he asked. "I thought I heard someone shoutin'."_

_Blind rage took over, and before John really knew what he was doing he was at the door, grabbing Tucker by the front of his uniform and yanking him into the room. The Commander, taken by surprise, reacted a second too late, and John slammed him against the nearby wall, hard enough to knock the air out of both of them._

_"I'll - show - you," John panted. "Show you-"_

_Tucker pushed him away, forcefully enough so John stumbled and would have fallen if Ramon hadn't caught him. "Are ya crazy?"_

_Tucker's face was a mixture of anger and shock. Shaking off Ramon's hand, John went back at him, pulling his fist back to smash it into Tucker's face. This time, the Commander was prepared for the attack and blocked it, grabbed hold of John's arm and shoved him away again. He yelled something, but it was drowned out by the mad pounding in John's ears. Martin had gotten up from his chair, staring with his mouth hanging open._

_Heavily breathing, John turned around to Ramon who was still standing there, his hands clenched to fists at his sides. He looked like a scared and angry animal, ready to attack but not sure about when and how._

_"You didn't answer my question, Ramon," John said. A very distant part of his mind noted how strange his voice sounded, almost as if it didn't belong to him. "Are you?"_

_Ramon met his eyes, and John saw his own madness appear on the young ensign's face, contorting the normally soft features. For a second, John believed Ramon was going to punch him, but then, unexpectedly, the ensign pushed past him and attacked Tucker with a viciousness that left the Commander completely unprepared. They went down in a tangle of arms and legs, Ramon landing a hard punch in Tucker's face before the Commander managed to shake him off._

_"What's wrong with you?" Tucker shouted. Blood ran down the side of his mouth as he tried to get back to his feet. "What are you d-"_

_He never finished his sentence. Both John and Martin came at him at the same time, and all John was aware of was the loud pounding in his head, that mad fury sending hot bolts down his spine every time he delivered another kick or punch, and he knew that nothing, absolutely nothing would stop him now..._

John lay in his sickbay bed, frozen. He remembered all of it; the wild satisfaction as they had screamed themselves into a frenzy, Tucker on the floor, trying to protect his face with his arms... the mad and arousing feeling of absolute power. And then... he and Martin, dragging Tucker to his feet and throwing him on the bed... the sound of tearing fabric... and finally Tucker screaming and screaming.

_Oh God... oh my god... what have we done? What have **I** done?_

John suddenly found it hard to breathe, and tried to sit up, pressing both hands against his chest. What had happened on the planet... what they had done to Tucker... it was his fault. The madness, the rage... it had been he who had instilled it in the others, who had allowed himself to be carried away by an anger he still didn't understand. Yes, there had been feelings of dislike, even resentment ever since he had known about Tucker and Reed, but he had never - never - even thought of hurting anyone.

Mercilessly, the memories of what he had done returned in all clarity... the violence, the feeling of control that had stimulated him, the cruel pleasure he had taken in the pain he inflicted on his victim... John choked back a sob. That wasn't him. How could he have done something like that when merely thinking about it made him want to vomit? How could such a thing happen at all?

He lay back on his pillow, warm tears running down his temples, and never even noticed when the door opened.

"Lieutenant, you're awake!"

The doctor's round face appeared in John's field of vision, but he only turned his head away. Phlox checked the readings on the bio monitor, then turned back to his patient.

"Your vital signs are stable, Lieutenant. How are you feeling?"

John shook his head, wishing the doctor would go away. Right now, he couldn't bear to look at anyone, let alone speak to them.

The doctor continued, in a more subdued voice, "I assume you remember what occurred on the planet, Lieutenant."

John turned his head, expecting - almost hoping - to see anger and disgust in the doctor's eyes; it was what he deserved, what he felt for himself. Instead, however, all he detected in the strange blue eyes was an expression of sadness and... pity.

"It was my fault, doctor," he whispered. His voice sounded hoarse, barely audible, but he continued. It seemed very important to get this point across. "I... I made them do it. I don't know why. It was my fault."

Phlox rested a hand on his arm. "I understand that you're upset, Lieutenant, but right now it is imperative that you rest. Your body has suffered a shock, and it will take some time to recuperate from the trauma. We can talk later."

John only stared at him, then turned his head away. "I'm sorry," he whispered while tears were still streaming down his cheeks. "God, I'm so sorry."

Phlox said nothing in response, and a moment later John felt something cold touch the side of his neck. His eyes began to drift close and he embraced the feeling, allowing oblivion to claim him and take him out of this hell... if only for a short time.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

**Title**: Killing Thing

**Author**: Sita Z

**Genre**: Angst/Drama

**Rating**: PG 13

**AN: **Thanks to everybody who reviewed Chapter 5!

---------------

Chapter 6

"Doctor?" Malcolm's voice broke the silence in sickbay's main room. He heard steps approaching, and then a soft rustle as the curtain was drawn aside.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

Malcolm didn't turn his head as Phlox came in.

"I think Trip's waking up."

Almost as if on cue, the sleeping man stirred again, groaning slightly. Phlox stepped closer to check the readings on the bio monitor.

"Looks well enough," he said, and finally Malcolm lifted his eyes to look at the doctor.

"Is he... is he going to be okay?"

"He is "okay", as a matter of fact," the doctor replied. "His EEG readings have returned to normal."

A huge weight lifted off Malcolm's soul at these words. He had known, of course, that Trip's condition was only temporary - the Captain was living proof that the neurological imbalance had left no permanent damage. However, the memory of Trip curled up on his desk chair, muttering and rocking back and forth like a madman in a padded cell was too fresh in his mind to be ignored.

Trip's bruised face, almost peaceful in slumber, twitched, and he gave a small, pained moan. Malcolm watched him worriedly. No matter what the doctor said, Trip didn't seem "okay" to him. He tightened his grip on his partner's hand, and stroked its back with his thumb.

"It's alright, Trip. Open your eyes, it's going to be okay."

The hand under his fingers tensed, as if Trip had suddenly noticed that there was someone touching him. Then, he opened his eyes, turning his head away when the bright light hit him in the face.

"Trip!" Malcolm was so relieved he felt an actual smile spread on his face. "I..."

Trip turned his head back to look at them, and Malcolm's smile froze. The insane fear was gone from Trip's eyes, had apparently vanished along with the mysterious imbalance, but Malcolm wasn't sure if he liked the look that replaced it. Trip's eyes seemed different... bleak. No, that wasn't true, Malcolm realized with growing dismay. There was more to it. Trip's eyes hadn't only lost their usual spark... they seemed to hold nothing at all. _Lifeless_, Malcolm's mind added before he could stop himself.

"Mal?" Trip asked blearily, obviously trying to make sense of the situation. "Doc?"

"That's right." Malcolm forced another smile. "You're in sickbay, love. You... you gave us quite a scare, but you're going to be fine."

Trip only stared at him with those eyes that didn't seem to belong to him, then, abruptly, pulled his hand out of Malcolm's grip. He wrapped his arms around himself, hiding his hands in his armpits, and turned his head away again.

"I wanna be alone," he said, so quietly that Malcolm barely understood him.

Phlox, who hadn't said a word so far, cleared his throat. "If you'll excuse me, Lieutenant," he said quietly. "I'd like to notify the Captain."

Malcolm, still finding it hard to conceal how hurt he was by Trip's actions, only nodded. The Captain had been discharged from sickbay at his own request and had promised to spend the day resting in his quarters, on condition that Phlox called him immediately if Trip was to regain consciousness. The curtain rustled again as the doctor left, but Trip didn't even seem to notice and only pulled further into himself.

"Trip," Malcolm tried again. "Please... I want to help you."

He was painfully aware of how empty his words sounded, but what else could he say? It was true, he wanted to help, wanted to protect Trip from... anything. Everything. Except that he had no idea how to do so.

Trip wouldn't look at him, staring at the curtain as if he had never seen it before. "Leave me alone, Malcolm. Just... go."

At Trip's use of his full name, Malcolm felt something tighten in his chest. Trip had called him that before, in intimate moments or when he was teasing him, but never, never in this cold tone of voice. As if there were nothing but cool detachment between them.

_He's not being himself_, Malcolm told himself, remembering what Phlox had told him about the road to recovery never being a straight line. _He's been through hell. Expecting him to wake up and give me a peck on the cheek would be ridiculous. And cruel._

"Trip," he said. "I know how you must feel right now, but..."

Malcolm wasn't even finished when he realized that his choice of words couldn't have been worse. Trip turned back to him, and finally an emotion appeared in his eyes, although it wasn't the one Malcolm had hoped to see.

"You don't know a thing 'bout how I feel," Trip said, his voice rising. "You don't know a goddamn fuckin' thing!"

Malcolm fought hard to keep his voice calm. "You're right. I don't know how you feel. But I can't help you if you don't talk to me, Trip. You-"

"I don't want your help, Malcolm." Again, his full name, and this time it sounded almost like an insult. Awkwardly, Trip pushed himself to a sitting position and shook off the blanket, not wasting a second look on it when it fell to the floor. Malcolm stared at him, not daring to touch his partner, not knowing what to say.

Trip, apparently, saw no need to say anything at all. For a moment he only sat there, breathing heavily and blinking as if to get rid of a dizzy spell. Then, with equal difficulty, he pushed his legs over the edge, steadying himself with his hands as he slid off the bed. The sight of his partner barely able to keep himself upright stirred Malcolm into action.

"Trip, please... you shouldn't get up just now." He got up from his chair and carefully reached out for Trip's arm. "Come on..."

Trip shrank back from his touch and, still unsteady on his legs, stumbled and would have fallen to the floor if Malcolm hadn't caught him. As he helped Trip regain his balance, Malcolm's hand came to rest on Trip's back. The other man's muscles were so tense they seemed close to tearing apart. Malcolm swallowed hard. Seeing Trip so scared - scared of _him_ - hurt worse than he could have imagined. He felt the sudden urge to pull him into a hug, make it all go away, but a look at Trip's face told him that any further touches would not be appreciated. Slowly, Malcolm stepped away.

"I'm going to ask the doctor if you can go back to your quarters," he said quietly, watching his partner who was leaning against the bio bed for support. "That alright?"

At first, Trip didn't react at all and only stared at a spot between his feet. Malcolm was beginning to doubt that Trip had heard him at all when the other man nodded, an almost imperceptible gesture.

Malcolm nodded silently in response, and noticed Trip's lips move, as if he were about to say something. Malcolm waited, but no sound came out, and Trip lowered his head again, withdrawing back into himself.

"I'll be right back," Malcolm said, although he could see that Trip was not paying him any attention. He turned around and drew the curtain aside, only to find himself face to face with Phlox, who had obviously been about to do the same thing.

"Lieutenant," the doctor said, glancing past Malcolm at Trip. "I asked the Captain to postpone his visit... it doesn't seem to be the ideal time right now."

Malcolm shook his head, dropping his voice even though he was positive that Trip wasn't hearing a word of their conversation. "No, I don't think so. Doctor... is there any chance Trip could go back to his quarters? He... he might feel less uncomfortable there."

Phlox tilted his head, considering. "I'd prefer to keep him under close observation for a while, but... you may have a point. I'll discharge him, if he agrees to wear a sensor device."

Malcolm remembered the monitoring bracelet Phlox had fastened around a reluctant Captain's wrist. He wasn't so sure Trip would appreciate wearing one of those, but on the other hand he could see the doctor's point. They still had no idea how the alteration had come into existence, and whether or not it was going to reappear. Keeping his patients under observation was the least Phlox could do.

Speaking of whom... Malcolm glanced at the still closed door of the IC unit. "What about them?" he asked quietly. "You're not going to discharge them, are you?"

For some reason, an expression of sadness crossed the doctor's features. "Not today, no," he said quietly. "Lieutenant..." He paused. "I'm not at liberty to discuss the details of my patients' condition with you, but I think you should know that they're... extremely sorry. And that's putting it mildly."

"So they remember?" Malcolm asked, not quite succeeding in keeping the anger out of his tone.

Phlox nodded. "They do. As a matter of fact, Captain Archer seems to be the only one who has any trouble recalling his stay on the planet."

It was all he said, but Malcolm could see what the doctor was thinking: _There's a chance they never wanted it to happen. A chance that they're all victims of... whatever it was that transpired down there._

Malcolm had considered this as well, but in all honesty he couldn't say that he felt any compassion for those three men. A rational part of his mind may have realized that they deserved at least a chance, an investigation of the circumstances, but at the same time he knew that they would have to turn somewhere else for help. All he wanted was to see them taken off the ship and transported back to Earth where they could rot in prison. Or a mental institution. He didn't really care which.

Phlox must have read Malcolm's thoughts on his face; he sighed and said nothing more on the subject, taking a handscanner and another sensor bracelet out of his pocket.

"I had a feeling I would be needing this," he explained at Malcolm's questioning look. "Well, let's see if Mr. Tucker is ready to be released."

Trip hadn't moved throughout their conversation, and barely raised his head when Malcolm and the doctor returned to his side. His earlier outburst seemed forgotten, and he didn't react in any way when Phlox briefly scanned him, then tucked away the device with a satisfied nod.

"You'll be pleased to know that your brain scan doesn't show any aberrations, Commander," the doctor announced a little too cheerfully. "I'll discharge you to your quarters, if you promise to stay in bed and rest." He held up the bracelet. "Your wrist, please, Commander."

This last request caught Trip's attention, and he raised his head. "What?" he asked hoarsely.

The doctor didn't miss a beat, although Malcolm saw that he, too, was surprised that Trip had reacted at all. "I must ask you to wear a sensor device outside of sickbay, at least for another twenty-four hours. I need to monitor your readings in case there are any unexpected complications."

Trip licked his lips, then, with obvious reluctance, held out his left hand. The doctor quickly fitted the device around his wrist, then glanced at the monitor to check if the data was transferred the way it should be.

"Very well," he said. "You can go. I'm sure Lieutenant Reed will accompany you to your quarters. And Commander..."

He waited, patiently, until Trip had turned back his head to look at him.

"Please, do not hesitate to call me if there's anything you need."

Trip nodded, although the gesture came across more like a shrug. Then, without a look at either of them, he slowly shuffled past the half-opened curtains and began to make his way to the sickbay doors. The way he walked, his whole body posture radiated apathetic indifference, and he didn't even seem to hear it when Malcolm called his name.

"Trip... wait for me!"

Malcolm avoided Phlox's eyes as he picked up the crumpled blanket and followed Trip. The last thing he wanted to see was pity on the doctor's face.

He quickened his pace until he had caught up with Trip and reached out for the door control.

"Here," he said, carefully wrapping the blanket around Trip's shoulders. "You must be cold."

Part of him half expected Trip to simply drop the blanket to the floor, but instead the other man held onto it, pulling it tighter around his shoulders in much the same way as he had done earlier that night.

The walk to Trip's quarters passed in silence. More than once, Malcolm came close to resting a comforting arm on Trip's shoulders - forget about anyone seeing them, he wouldn't have

given a damn if the whole bloody ship had stood lined up in the corridors. But there was something about the way Trip stared straight ahead, the way he clutched the blanket like a shield that stopped him from doing so.

Once they had reached Trip's quarters, Malcolm pressed the button to open the door. Trip stood passively until the bulkhead had slid aside, then limped inside, blanket still wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Malcolm made as if to follow him, but stopped short when Trip suddenly turned around, looking at him for the first time since his outburst in sickbay.

"No."

Something in his tone hit Malcolm like a slap in the face. "Trip? What..."

Trip only stared at him. "I don't want you to come with me. I wanna be alone."

At first, Malcolm couldn't bring himself to make a sound. It wasn't so much _what_ he said... it was the way he said it. Coldly. Almost as if the words were meant to hurt. And maybe, Malcolm realized, maybe they were.

He swallowed, hard, and took a step back. "Okay," he said quickly. "That's okay. You..." _call me if you need me_, he'd been about to say, but somehow he couldn't work the words past his lips. He wasn't sure if he could face another rejection by his partner.

Trip stared at him for another moment, and Malcolm thought he saw... something cross his face, a strange expression that vanished again before Malcolm could make out what it was. Then the door closed behind Trip, and Malcolm found himself staring at the bulkhead, very suddenly and unexpectedly fighting tears. He turned around and leaned against wall next to the door, closing his eyes.

_He didn't mean it._ _He's not being himself._

But somehow that didn't make it hurt any less. Malcolm knew he should go in there regardless of what had just happened, use the override, walk in there and pull Trip into a hug, hold him and tell him that it was going to be okay. Except that it wasn't going to be okay. Of course not. All Malcolm could offer were empty phrases, awkward attempts at comfort from someone who had no idea what to do. How to help. And it was obvious that Trip didn't want his help.

Malcolm stayed where he was for a while, listening, hoping for any sounds from within the room, maybe footsteps approaching the door. But there were none.

Finally, Malcolm realized that Trip wasn't going to come out again. He stepped away from the door, lingered in the corridor for another minute, and then slowly began to make his way towards his own quarters, never looking back as he walked away.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

**Title**: Killing Thing

**Author**: Sita Z

**Genre**: Angst/Drama

**Rating**: PG 13

**AN: **Thank you for your reviews!

---------------

Chapter 7

Malcolm tapped a pen against the padd lying in front of him on the table, ceasing abruptly when he noticed the doctor's eyes on him. There was no denying that Phlox had been watching him ever since they had entered the conference room, and even the Captain had spared him a few side-ways glances that let Malcolm know he was worried.

Typical, Malcolm thought with a trace of dry humor, that the Captain should worry about him, although it was barely a day ago that he himself had woken up in sickbay, shaky and exhausted from their ordeal on the planet.

Thinking of that goddamned planet, his amusement vanished as quickly as it had come. They were still in orbit around the Ru'khi homeworld, still sending out hails to a government that seemed unwilling to even recognize their presence anymore. T'Pol, with typical Vulcan persistency, had continued to send hourly messages to the planet while her Captain and four of her crewmates lay unconscious in sickbay, and two hours ago Minister Ma'khi had finally deigned to answer her call. From the little Malcolm knew, she had refused to talk to Captain Archer (or any member of the away team, for that matter), spending an hour in a "private conference" with T'Pol before she signed off once and for all. The Captain, of course, had been less than pleased when matters were taken out of his hands, and - over the protests of a worried Dr. Phlox - had immediately called a debriefing with all the senior officers present. Well, almost. Malcolm didn't have to look at the empty chair to his right to know who was missing.

Trip had not responded to his hails, refused to answer to the door signal, and only Phlox' reassurances that Trip's readings were stable had prevented Malcolm from using the override again. It didn't seem right to intrude on Trip's privacy when there was no vital need to do so... especially not now. Phlox had agreed with his decision.

"Maybe the Commander needs some time to himself to come to terms with things." Malcolm remembered the doctor's quiet, gentle tone after he had - haltingly - related to him what had happened in front of Trip's quarters. "Do not think he was rejecting you because he blames you for anything. I've known Commander Tucker for a while now, and I believe it's simply his response to the situation. He's been hurt so badly he doesn't know how to deal with it, and so he lashes out in an attempt to give back some of the hurt. Which, of course, will not make things better for him in any way. I'm sure that by now he wishes he had accepted your offer of help, but doesn't know how to say so."

Touched by the doctor's understanding and concern, Malcolm had decided to abandon his usual reserve. If he was being honest, the fact that there was someone who would listen, someone older and... more experienced, was about all that had kept him from breaking down completely.

"So... what do I do now?" he had asked, for some reason unable to meet the doctor's eyes. "I can't just..."

"Leave him alone, Lieutenant?" The doctor's eyes had crinkled in an almost-smile. "Ah, but that is exactly what you should do. Give him time. A day, maybe two days... don't feel you're abandoning him because you're not always with him. He knows that you're there when he needs you. It is quite enough."

_Well, I don't seem to have much of a choice. _Malcolm saw the reasoning behind the doctor's words, but at the same time he wished he could have _done_ something. Sitting here when Trip was in his quarters, alone and hurting... it seemed so wrong to him.

The door to the conference room opened again and T'Pol came in, carrying a stack of several padds. She turned to Archer.

"Please forgive my lateness, Captain," she said. "The Minister needed reassurance that we are not going to take any hostile actions against them."

Malcolm saw his surprise mirrored on the Captain's face.

"Hostile actions?" Archer echoed. "Why would she think we'd want to attack them?"

T'Pol took her seat, carefully spreading the padds in front of her. "There is an explanation, Captain. However..." Uncharacteristically, she hesitated before she continued. "My report includes certain... details about the away mission. I believe Lieutenant Reed and the doctor are already informed."

Travis and Hoshi immediately turned their heads to look at the Captain, who in turn, was staring down at his folded hands. Malcolm lowered his head, wishing he could be anywhere but here. When Hoshi had asked him if Trip wasn't attending, he hadn't known what to say, and finally settled for "He's not feeling very well". He'd felt like a bastard when he evaded her concerned questions - as one of Trip's closest friends and his adopted "little sister", Hoshi had a right to know - but Malcolm could not bring himself to tell her. Or Travis, for that matter. Not like that.

Archer let out a small sigh. "Yes," he said. "I think everyone here needs to know."

"Is there something wrong, Captain?" Hoshi asked rather tentatively. Malcolm couldn't blame her, since everyone in the room seemed to do their best not to look at the two Ensigns.

Archer nodded. "I'm afraid so, Hoshi." He paused, collecting his thoughts. "What I'm going to tell you now is not to leave this room."

They nodded, now both openly concerned. "Yes, sir."

Archer held their eyes for a moment, then nodded before he continued quietly. "Commander Tucker... has been assaulted on the planet."

Hoshi's eyes grew wide, and Travis asked, "Assaulted as in..."

"Sexually assaulted, yes." Archer averted his eyes for a moment, and Malcolm closed his eyes. It felt so wrong, calling a brutal rape "sexual assault" and discussing it openly while the person in question wasn't even present. It felt so goddamn bloody wrong.

Travis had gotten up, so abruptly that his chair threatened to topple over, and turned his back to the briefing table. Hoshi remained where she was. Her face was white.

"H-how did it happen?" she asked.

Archer held her gaze, and Malcolm admired his steadfastness as he answered. "That's what we're trying to find out," he replied. "All we know is that it were Lieutenant Peters and Ensigns Florez and Kelsey who attacked the Commander."

Hoshi clamped a hand over her mouth, but her gasp was drowned out by Travis' voice. The young helmsman had turned around again, his hands clenched to fists and shaking. "Not Martin Kelsey?"

Archer nodded. "I'm afraid so, Travis."

The ensign sat back down on his chair, hard. Malcolm knew that Kelsey belonged to Travis' poker club that met on Wednesday nights in the messhall. More than once, Trip and he had played as well, and for the first time Malcolm recalled what Kelsey looked like; a gangly young man in his mid-twenties, with a face full of freckles and a tendency to knock things over when he wasn't looking.

"But... why?" Hoshi's voice shook slightly. "Why would they... I mean..."

Archer shook his head. "We don't know, Ensign. Lieutenant Peters and the two Ensigns have no explanation for what they did. They're... in shock."

"Is the Commander okay?" Travis asked, then, realizing what he had just said, hastily added, "I mean, is he... injured or something?"

Phlox spoke up for the first time. "Fortunately, Commander Tucker's injuries are not serious," he said. "I released him from sickbay a day ago."

Hoshi shook her head. "I still don't understand it."

T'Pol picked up one of her padds. "I believe my recent conversation with Minister Ma'khi may be of help here. If I may, Captain?"

Archer nodded. "Please, go ahead."

T'Pol inclined her head. "Before I begin with my report, Captain... the Minister asked me to convey her heartfelt apologies to you and your team. She said she could not bear facing you after what occurred on the planet."

The Captain didn't look convinced. "Why couldn't she talk to me?"

"I believe it is a cultural issue, Captain," T'Pol replied calmly. "The Minister feels that she wronged you, and in her culture it's customary that after an offense where two parties are concerned, personal contact is minimized on both sides."

Archer's mouth hardened, but he didn't comment on the Ru'khi's unique way of dealing with a crisis. "So, what exactly happened to us on the planet? Did the Ru'khi have something to do with the alteration to our brain chemistry?"

"They did not do anything to cause it," T'Pol replied. "However, they were aware of the possibility that an alteration could occur." She paused. "It was not the first time an alien delegation began to show strange symptoms or... acted on violent impulses."

Suddenly, Phlox leaned forward in his chair and picked up T'Pol's padd, his face darkening as he studied the data on the display.

"Doctor?" Archer asked, sounding impatient.

Phlox lowered the padd again, and even though Malcolm was no expert in reading Denobulan facial expressions, he got the impression that the doctor was shocked. "It's the atmosphere of the planet, Captain," he said quietly. "Two chemical compounds interacting..."

Archer sat up straight. "You and T'Pol scanned the atmosphere, doc..."

Phlox placed the padd back on the table. "We did, Captain. And the two compounds we're talking about will do no harm to the human metabolism - separately. Scans indicated that they would not be dangerous if combined, but..." He sighed deeply. "It seems that our scan results were faulty."

Realizing what Archer's next question would be, T'Pol picked up again. "Minister Ma'khi referred several times to what she called the "sleeping fury". It appears that every time their alien visitors became violent, there was something that sparked the incident... a tense situation, or an unsolved conflict that occupied the persons in question's minds."

Malcolm surprised himself by speaking up. "Are you saying that it was a mere disagreement that made the three crewmen do what they did to Commander Tucker?" He could barely keep the anger out of his voice. If the Ru'khi had known about this and neglected to tell them...

"Not quite, Lieutenant." T'Pol's calm voice interrupted his thoughts. "I do not believe a simple argument could have caused the three men to lose control in such a way. There must have been... stronger emotions involved for the chemicals to have such an intense effect. Although I can only speculate about the nature of those feelings."

Archer's face was tight, as if he were having a hard time controlling his anger. "So someone was having a bad day... or bearing a grudge for some reason or other... and all Trip did was be in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

T'Pol folded her hands on the table. "I'll have to study the chemicals in question to give you a precise answer, Captain, but basically I assume that is what happened."

Travis shook his head. "If the Ru'khi knew this could happen, why didn't they warn us? Or offer to negotiate via comm channels?"

"I asked the Minister the same question," T'Pol replied. "She said that they tried subspace negotiations in the past, but found that too many of their trading partners used the opportunity to deceive them and leave orbit without fulfilling their part of the agreement. Besides, the negotiation ceremony is an important part of their cultural identity."

Malcolm pressed his lips together, wishing he could say aloud exactly what he thought of the Ru'khi's cultural identity and their people as a whole. "So they accepted the fact that they were endangering their guests, for a trading agreement?" He couldn't quite keep the cold anger out of his tone.

"Yes," T'Pol said simply, for once not commenting on human emotionalism. "Although not all of their alien visitors were affected by the planet's atmosphere. Minister Ma'khi told me that every time they're about to receive guests, she goes to pray with the priests that the sleeping fury won't raise its head this time."

For a moment no one spoke, then Hoshi said quietly: "What I still don't understand is... what sort of feelings would make anyone do such a thing? I know Ramon... Ensign Florez, I mean, and he's not a violent person."

"He's not?" Malcolm asked, more sharply than he had intended. "Rape is one of the most violent crimes in existence, Ensign."

Another moment of silence followed. Malcolm realized that he had done it, had said the R-word everyone was so desperately trying to avoid, but he couldn't bring himself to care. That was what those men had done, they had raped Trip, and he'd be damned if he was going to beat around the bush just to protect anyone's _feelings_.

"Malcolm," Archer admonished almost gently, as if trying to let him know that he understood. "Hoshi has a point. We need to find out what exactly made those crewmen do what they did."

He looked at every one of his officers seated at the table. "And I believe the only way of doing so is asking them."

--------------

"Trip!"

Malcolm waited, then raised his hand again, knocking at the door. Not surprisingly, there was no answer.

"Trip, please, it's me. Malcolm. Please open the door."

The silence was beginning to grate on his nerves. Malcolm knew that the doctor had a point; maybe Trip needed to be alone, needed to "come to terms with things". All the same, however, he couldn't bring himself to believe that hiding in his quarters would do Trip any good. Malcolm knew more about Charles Tucker III than anyone else on board, with the possible exception of the Captain, and he knew that Trip was not the kind of person who "came to terms with things" when left on his own. Trip would run away from his problems, hide them in the darkest corner of his mind, push them back whenever they tried to rise above the surface, but he wouldn't deal with them. Malcolm was fairly certain that ever since that first panic attack after his nightmare, Trip had mercilessly crushed any feelings, any emotional reaction to what had happened. It was easier not to face the pain inside. Easier to run.

Malcolm knocked again, louder this time. "Trip, open the door. I'll use the override if you don't let me in."

Malcolm waited, listening for any sound on the other side of the door. This time, there was a faint rustling, then, suddenly, the bulkhead slid aside, startling Malcolm who hadn't really expected it to happen. Trip stood - or rather, leaned - in the door, once again clad in his flannel sweater, pajama pants and what looked like at least two pairs of socks. He was rather pale, a dark shade on his chin testifying to the fact that he hadn't used a razor in more than three days. The bruises had somewhat faded in the meantime, although Trip's left eye was still slightly puffy, the skin surrounding it a mottled brown and green. His face was blank, devoid of any expression.

"What d'you want?"

Malcolm rested a hand on the doorframe. "I wanted to see you," he said, not knowing what else to say. Trip only stared back at him with those dull eyes.

Malcolm took a deep breath. "Can I come in?"

Finally, Trip's face changed a little, his eyes narrowing. "Why?"

"I need to talk with you," Malcolm said. He wished he could have done more, pulled Trip into a hug or at least touched his arm in a gesture of comfort. But he didn't, realizing it would not be appreciated. Trip didn't move or speak for several seconds, and Malcolm was about to give up hope when his partner suddenly stepped aside, turning away from Malcolm. It wasn't exactly an invitation to come in, but Malcolm took it as one and followed Trip inside the room.

The lights in Trip's quarters were dimmed and the bed unmade, clothes strewn over the floor as if someone had kicked them across the room. Next to the window, Malcolm saw something glistening and wet on the deck. There was a slight whiff of alcohol in the air. Stepping closer, Malcolm saw shards, and a large puddle of an amber liquid. The dark spot on the wall above the puddle suggested that the bottle had been thrown against the bulkhead, where it had shattered on impact. From the amount of liquid on the floor, it had still been almost full when it was broken.

He turned around to Trip who was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed in front of his chest - or rather, wrapped around his upper body. Malcolm glanced at the empty glass on Trip's bedside table, then back at his partner who was staring back at him with that blank expression.

"Bourbon didn't help, did it?"

Trip only shook his head. Malcolm held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. "Trip, I... can we sit down?"

The formal question sounded odd to his ears, but Trip only shrugged. "Sure," he mumbled. After a short hesitation, Malcolm took a seat on the desk chair. Trip remained standing for a few seconds, then slowly walked over to his bunk and sat down on the edge. With his sagging shoulders and empty face, Trip looked so sad and lonely that Malcolm almost gave in to the urge of going over there and wrapping his arms around the other man. He knew, however, that he was likely to end up on the floor again if he tried any such thing.

"So.. what d'ya wanna talk about?"

Malcolm almost startled. He hadn't expected Trip to say anything.

"I..." He trailed off. There it was again, that feeling of helplessness, of not knowing what to say. "I wanted to see how you were doing," he said finally. It sounded awkward even to himself, and Trip only shrugged, staring at the floor between his feet.

Silence followed, and Malcolm found himself almost wishing he hadn't come here, after all. It hurt, sitting in this messy room and realizing that the comfort he had to offer wasn't wanted or needed. That Trip only waited for him to leave again. At the same time, however, Malcolm knew that he couldn't simply walk out, even if it might be the least hurtful option for both of them.

"T'Pol found out what happened on the planet," he said. Trip raised his head at that, but said nothing. Malcolm continued, "She talked to Minister Ma'khi. It seems that there's some sort of chemical in the planet's atmosphere that kindles... violent responses in some species, including ours." He left out the part about the dormant anger or tension that triggered the violence, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible. "We believe that this is what happened to Lieutenant Peters and the two Ensigns." Trip didn't react when Malcolm mentioned the three men; in fact, Malcolm's words seemed to flow past him as if nothing of this really concerned him. Malcolm hesitated before he added, "Trip, I'm not sure if it is the right time to tell you this, but... they're truly sorry. They... they didn't want for any of this to happen."

He steeled himself for the angry outburst he was sure to follow, but it never came. Trip only stared at him for another moment, and suddenly the corners of his mouth began to twitch. His face turned into a distorted parody of his familiar cheerful grin, and he laughed, a short, barking sound that carried no mirth at all.

Malcolm tried - and failed - to hide his shock at Trip's reaction. "Trip..."

"Sorry, Mal." Trip chuckled. "But it's funny in a way, isn't it?"

"No, I don't think it is." Malcolm studied his partner closely, and realized that there was more pain in Trip's laughter than in most people's tears. "I don't think there's anything amusing about it at all."

Trip snorted. "I guess the crew'd disagree with you there. 'Hey, wanna know what happened on that freaky planet we went to, me an' the guys kinda went mad and fucked Commander Tucker till there was blood all over the bed. Kinda stupid, I know, but hey, it was the nasty alien chemicals that made us do it, and at least we got some-"

"Stop it!" Malcolm got up, barely realizing that he was doing so. "God damn it, Trip! There's no need to do this to yourself!"

He almost wished for Trip to jump up as well, yell at him, even hit him, if that helped. Malcolm would have been glad to have a fist fight with his partner if it allowed Trip to let go of the pain. But Trip remained where he was. The grin had vanished from his face and he met Malcolm's eyes with seeming indifference.

For a moment, Malcolm came close to grabbing his partner's shoulders and shaking him, if only to startle a single honest reaction out of him instead of that terrible cynicism. Then, however, he remembered the pain in Trip's voice, and his anger disappeared as quickly as it had come. Before he could think about what he was doing, Malcolm sat down next to Trip on the bed and pulled the other man into a hug.

Trip didn't push him away. He sat motionless, not reacting in any way except for a slight stiffening of the back, and seemed to wait for Malcolm to let go again. Although he got no reaction, Malcolm tightened his hug, refusing to let go of the unresponsive man.

"Talk to me, Trip," he whispered into the tousled blond hair. "You need to stop doing this to yourself. None of this was your fault, but you need to let go. You need to talk."

"Let me go," Trip said very quietly.

This time, Malcolm complied, fighting back a hard lump in his throat. "Trip, please. You can't go on like this."

Trip only stared at him.

"I love you, Trip. I want to help." Malcolm reached out, his hand stopping in mid-movement when Trip shook his head.

"It's better if you go, Mal."

Something in his tone told Malcolm that Trip wasn't only talking about leaving the room. Despair settled in his chest like a heavy stone.

"Trip..."

Trip only shook his head, and there was something final to the gesture. Malcolm got up and stood in front of Trip's bed, waiting, hoping for any sign that Trip didn't want him to go away, after all. But Trip only sat there, his arms wrapped around himself, and at some point Malcolm turned around and left, the door closing behind him with a soft hiss.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

**Title**: Killing Thing

**Author**: Sita Z

**Genre**: Angst/Drama

**Rating**: PG 13

**AN: **Thank you for your reviews!

---------------

Chapter 8

Malcolm woke to the sound of his alarm going off. The familiar beeping seemed to come from a different direction than usual, and it took him a second to realize that his head was resting on the hard surface of his desk, and not on a pillow. Slowly, Malcolm straightened up in the chair, his back groaning in protest at the movement. For a moment, he only sat there, in the same place where he had been sitting all night. The beeping of the alarm became louder, as it was programmed to do when it wasn't switched off within fifteen seconds, and Malcolm realized with a detached sort of surprise that he had only fallen asleep about an hour ago. He didn't feel tired, however. In fact, he didn't feel anything at all.

After returning from Trip's quarters last night, Malcolm had gone to his cabin, sat down at his desk and cried. Not the way he had seen other people cry, sobbing and groaning and slobbering snot all over their sleeves; after so many years of "Reeds don't cry", Malcolm couldn't bring himself to do so. He had simply sat there, allowing the tears to fall and waiting for the pain in his chest to ease. It hadn't, and after several hours Malcolm had succumbed to a fitful slumber that was soon to be interrupted again. Now, all that reminded him of his nightly crying session were the dried tears that were beginning to itch on his skin. That, and the pain, which was still there, like an open sore that doesn't seem to heal.

Wearily, Malcolm rose from his desk chair and walked over to switch off the alarm which had increased its volume to an unpleasant shrillness. Mechanically, he went through his morning routine as if he had just woken from six hours of healthy sleep, showering, changing into a new uniform and stuffing the old one into the clothes hamper. Memories of much more chaotic mornings came to his mind, he and Trip trying not to step on each other's feet in Malcolm's rather cramped quarters while getting ready for their shift. Malcolm had always left first, checking if the corridor was empty and thumping on the door when it was safe for Trip to come out. It was silly and at the same time exciting, sharing a secret no one else knew about. Taking his station on the bridge and nodding a professional greeting at Trip, as if they hadn't been in bed together only an hour ago.

Malcolm shoved the image to the very back of his mind. He didn't need that now, had no desire to add to the pain. He had a meeting to attend to, and knew that he needed all the control he could muster to get through it without hurting anyone.

Malcolm skipped breakfast, heading straight for the conference room where the meeting was going to take place. Only T'Pol was already there, raising an eyebrow when he entered the room.

"Lieutenant," she stated in her usual way of greeting.

Malcolm nodded at her, taking a seat at the table. "Good morning, Subcommander."

His voice sounded hoarse, as if he were developing a headcold. Discreetly, he cleared his throat, but T'Pol noticed all the same. She studied him calmly.

"You do not seem to be feeling well, Lieutenant. Maybe you should report to sickbay."

Malcolm knew what she was talking about; when he had looked in the mirror this morning, a pale face with dark, olive shadows under the eyes had stared back at him. He shook his head.

"I'm fine, thank you."

T'Pol watched him for another moment, as if she wanted to add something. Then, however, she returned her attention to the padd in her hands, and Malcolm inwardly sighed with relief. If he went to sickbay and Phlox found out he hadn't slept all night, the Armory would be off-limits for him for the next twelve hours. And all Malcolm really wanted was for this meeting to be over so he could go back to his routine, burying himself in his work so he wouldn't have to think.

Ten minutes later, the door opened and Captain Archer came in. Malcolm noticed that he still looked somewhat worse for wear, his face a few shades paler than usual. No surprises there, Malcolm thought; the Captain had barely taken the time to rest, going over the reports with T'Pol and keeping himself updated on the situation. Malcolm knew for a fact that Archer had more than once tried to contact Trip - in fact, stood in front of his friend's quarters and practically pleaded with him to open the door - but Trip had ignored him, just as he had ignored most of Malcolm's hails. Something tightened in Malcolm's chest, hard enough to hurt. Sure, Trip had let him in, eventually, but only to tell him to go away once and for all. And now... Malcolm doubted that Trip would even want to see him, let alone talk to him. He had made it very clear that as far as he was concerned, everything they'd had, everything they'd been, was over.

"Malcolm."

Archer's voice startled him; he hadn't even noticed the Captain taking a seat next to him.

"Excuse me, sir." At least his voice was back to normal. "I was lost in thought."

The Captain watched him concernedly. "Are you alright? You don't look so good."

_It's that obvious, isn't it._ Malcolm sighed. "I'm fine, sir."

Archer's eyes stayed on him, letting him know that the Captain wasn't fooled. "You don't have to do this, you know. I can ask your Alpha shift SIC to be present."

Malcolm shook his head. "Thank you, sir, but as Head of Security, it's my duty to be here."

He met Archer's eyes, and the Captain seemed to get the unspoken message. He wanted to do this, not only because it was his duty as Security Chief, but also because of Trip. Archer nodded slowly, then leaned back in his chair, turning his head so he was speaking to both of them.

"They'll be here any minute now. I've asked Ensigns Hsan and Schwarz to accompany them here... for safety reasons." He looked from Malcolm to T'Pol. "Anything you want to add before we begin?"

Malcolm shook his head, and T'Pol mirrored the gesture with a slight tilt of her own. "No, sir."

"Fine." Archer activated the recording device. "For the record, this hearing falls under Starfleet regulation 041-B. What is said in here is for the eyes and ears of the responsible department at Starfleet Command only. The officers present are Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, First Officer Subcommander T'Pol and Captain Jonathan Archer."

The door chimed, and Archer looked up. "Come," he said.

When the door opened, Malcolm found himself stiffening in his chair. He had been dreading this moment, when he actually had to face them, had to confront the fact that it were _his_ men he was going to interrogate, people he had known and trusted. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed T'Pol watching him, and made a deliberate effort to appear relaxed. _I can do this._

Peters, Kelsey and Florez were back in uniform, looking pale and exhausted as they slowly walked into the room. The two Ensigns kept their eyes fixed on the floor, and only Peters briefly met the Captain's gaze before he looked away again. None of them said a word.

Archer nodded at Hsan and Schwarz, who were still standing in the doorway. "Thank you, Ensigns. Dismissed."

The door closed as they left, leaving silence behind. After a moment, Archer leaned forward in his chair, gesturing at the opposite side of the table.

"Take a seat."

The three men complied silently. Malcolm noticed that Florez' hands were shaking slightly, curling around the armrests until their knuckles turned white. Martin Kelsey still hadn't looked at anyone, stiffly perching on the very edge of his seat.

Archer folded his hands on the table, and only someone who knew him as well as Malcolm did would have noticed the strain on his voice as he spoke.

"You're here because we need several questions answered," he said, wasting no time with a preamble. "It's in your own interest to answer these questions to the best of your knowledge."

He waited. Both Florez and Kelsey nodded quickly, still avoiding his eyes, and only Peters looked at him as he answered. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Archer paused. "Do you recall what happened on the planet?"

Again, the two Ensigns nodded silently. This time, Peters averted his eyes. "Yes, sir," he said very quietly.

T'Pol exchanged a glance with the Captain, mutely asking for his permission to continue. Archer inclined his head, and T'Pol turned to the three men.

"Describe what you remember."

Kelsey's eyes were still on the table top. Florez swallowed and looked at Peters, obviously waiting for him to begin talking. The young Lieutenant took a deep breath, then, never, looking at either of his colleagues, he replied quietly, "I don't... remember everything. We attended the banquet, then the Captain and the Minister left for the negotiation hall. Commander Tucker said he wanted to go for a walk, and we... went upstairs to our suite in the embassy."

"Why didn't you accompany him?" Malcolm interrupted. "As the highest-ranking security officer present, it would have been your job to make sure he was safe."

Peters swallowed, hard. "I... I wasn't feeling myself at that point, sir."

T'Pol regarded him coolly. "Specify."

The man stared down at his hands. "I... was angry. At Commander Tucker. I... we... talked about him, and..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"I believe Dr. Phlox has informed you about the chemical compounds and their unique effect," T'Pol said. "There must have been a reason why you were angry with the Commander."

Peters only shook his head, unwilling - or unable - to say more. For a moment, no one spoke. Then, suddenly, Martin Kelsey raised his head, and Malcolm startled when he saw that the young man's face was wet with tears.

"C-captain...," he said, his voice cracking as he tried to regain control. "I'm s-so sorry... I don't know what happened to me down there. I... I never... never w-wanted..."

He couldn't go on and lowered his head again, sobbing quietly and wiping the tears off with both hands. Malcolm averted his eyes. Seeing Kelsey cry like that was almost more than he could bear. Somewhere in his mind he pitied the man, but at the same time it made him think of Trip, who hadn't shed any tears, hadn't been able to. Malcolm closed his eyes. Snapping at Kelsey would not help anyone, including himself.

No one really seemed to know how to deal with the distraught man, whose sobbing was the only sound in the otherwise quiet room. Finally, it was Archer who broke the silence.

"Do you need a minute, Ensign?"

Kelsey shook his head. His breath hitched as he tried to hold back the tears. "N-no, sir... I'm s-sorry..." He pulled a used Kleenex from his pocket and wiped his nose, his voice sounding somewhat steadier as he repeated, "I'm sorry, Captain."

Archer nodded. T'Pol, who seemed relieved that the young man had regained a certain amount of control, returned her attention to Peters.

"Please describe what happened after you went back to your room in the embassy."

Malcolm noticed that Peters was scratching the cuticle of his right thumb, as if he were trying to get rid of a maddening itch. The skin surrounding the fingernail was raw and bloodied, but the Lieutenant didn't even seem to notice.

"We... we talked."

"And then?" Archer pressed on.

Peters continued to torture his fingers until his thumb began to bleed again. "Commander Tucker came back..." He took a deep breath. "He asked if everything was alright, and I... attacked him."

"Is that true?" T'Pol turned to the two Ensigns. "Did Lieutenant Peters initiate the attack?"

Kelsey nodded, his eyes still red and watery. Florez, who seemed close to tears himself, echoed the gesture. "Yes, ma'am," he said hoarsely.

"So why did you join in?" Archer asked. "Why would you do such a thing?"

Florez' eyes were bright with tears. He shook his head. "I don't know, sir. I don't really remember. All I know is that I was... angry... I can't remember ever being so mad before. And then we... attacked the Commander... He fell down and we... we kicked him and..." The tears began to spill down his cheeks. "Oh God... I'm so sorry, sir..."

"Sir." Peters' voice was so raw with despair that everybody turned in his direction. "Please, sir, it's not their fault. It was me."

"What do you mean, Lieutenant?" Archer asked. His face was set into grim lines, the expression reflecting how Malcolm felt inside. It was more than strenuous to continue as if this were a mere routine briefing on an away mission. When Florez, tears running down his face, had recounted his recollection of events, it was all Malcolm could do not to grab the man and shake him, yell at him that he had no right to feel that way, not after what he had done.

"What we did to Commander Tucker... it was my fault." Peters didn't look at anyone as he continued. "I made them do it."

"Explain." Archer's voice was very tight, as if he were getting that close to shouting.

Peters lowered his head even further, beginning to worry his thumb again. "I... disliked the Commander even before we went down to the planet."

"You must have had a reason for your resentment," T'Pol stated. "Especially if it was strong enough to trigger an act of such violence."

"Yes," Peters said quietly. "I don't like homosexuals."

Archer got up from his chair. _"What?"_

The Lieutenant was still talking down at his hands. "I... I found out about the Commander's relationship with Lieutenant Reed a few weeks ago. I... don't approve of that kind of thing. Down on the planet, I... somehow I lost control of what I was feeling. I was so angry..." Finally, he looked up again. His eyes were very bright. "Captain, all I can say is that I'm terribly sorry for what happened. I don't know what else to do."

Something snapped in Malcolm, so quietly that he barely noticed it happen. This man had turned the happiest part of Malcolm's life into something dirty, something lewd, had finally managed to destroy it, all because he didn't approve of _that kind of thing_. Malcolm never knew when he had left his chair, or how he suddenly came to be on the other side of the table. He grabbed Peters by the front of his uniform and punched him in the face, so hard that the other man was thrown backwards and fell down.

"You bastard!" Malcolm went after him, shaking with fury. Somewhere, Archer yelled his name, but the sound was drowned out by the wild pounding in his head. "You goddamned bastard, I'll kill you!"

Straddling the sobbing man, Malcolm punched him a second and a third time, feeling bones crack and a sharp throb shooting up his right arm. The pain only fuelled his rage, but suddenly a strong pair of hands grabbed him from behind, pulling him away from Peters.

"Calm down, Lieutenant," T'Pol's voice said next to his head as she held his arms in an iron grip. "Or I'm going to have to render you unconscious."

Malcolm knew that he stood no chance against T'Pol's superior Vulcan strength, but he struggled all the same, barely aware of anything but his anger. It came as a shock to him when T'Pol suddenly rested two warm fingers on the nape of his neck, applying pressure in a deliberate, rhythmic pattern.

"Breathe, Malcolm," she said so quietly that only he was able to hear her. "Concentrate on breathing."

Completely taken by surprise, he did as she said, and suddenly found the storm of emotions within him ebbing away. T'Pol, one hand firmly on his arm, continued her gentle massage - if that was what it was - until the aggressive tension had eased from his body. She let go of him, her dark eyes once again calm and distant as he turned around to face her.

"Lieutenant," she said.

Malcolm didn't know what to say in response, and so he only nodded, turning back to the Captain, who was helping Peters back to his feet. The Lieutenant was pressing a handkerchief against his upper lip to staunch the flow of blood, careful not to jostle his nose which was obviously broken. Only now did Malcolm realize that he had just injured a fellow officer, and one of his subordinates to boot. He forced himself to meet the Captain's eyes, steeling himself for the anger and disappointment he was sure to encounter. Instead, however, Archer only looked weary and sad.

"Your hand's injured, Malcolm," he said. Malcolm glanced down at his right hand, and saw that the knuckles were bruised and bloodied. They were throbbing painfully, and Malcolm supposed that he had managed to break at least one of them.

He raised his head again, but Archer wasn't looking at him anymore, having turned to T'Pol instead.

"The meeting's postponed," he said. "We'll-"

The sound of the comm cut him off. "Phlox to Captain Archer."

Archer went over to the speaker. "Archer here."

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Captain," the doctor said, sounding worried. "It seems as if we have a problem. I cannot find Commander Tucker."

Malcolm froze at that.

"What do you mean, you can't find him?" Archer asked, frowning.

"Exactly that, Captain," Phlox said. "The readings from his remote sensor device have disappeared from my bio monitor. I've conducted a full scan of the ship, but I can't detect his bio signs anywhere."

Malcolm never heard Archer's answer as he ran for the door. He knew with a cold clarity what Trip's bio signs disappearing meant, and if there was even the slightest chance of him stopping what Trip was about to do, he had to be fast.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	9. Chapter 9

**Title**: Killing Thing

**Author**: Sita Z

**Genre**: Angst/Drama

**Rating**: PG 13

**AN: **Thanks for your reviews :)!

---------------

Chapter 9

Several weeks ago, Trip had persuaded Malcolm to visit the "sweet spot" with him, Travis' usual off-duty haunt and one of the very few places on the ship untouched by the artificial gravity emitters. So far, Malcolm had been reluctant to go anywhere near the place, remembering only too well the effect anti-grav training at the Academy had had on him. Once again, however, Trip doing the puppy eyes routine had done him in, and he had followed Trip to sit upside down on the ceiling, finding to his surprise that Enterprise's sweet spot was nowhere near as terrible as the dreaded "Vomitorium" back at the Starfleet training center. Having a picnic hanging upside down from the ceiling, Malcolm had felt a little like Dr. Phlox' bat, but at the same time he found the experience strangely exhilarating - not least because Trip was grinning like the Cheshire cat all the time, happy that his "surprise date", as he called it, was a success.

Trip had surprised him further by describing to him exactly where the other two sweet spots were, as well as three "blind spots", places hidden deeply in the maze of Jefferies tubes that couldn't be checked by ship's scanners.

"It's where the power grids are overlappin'," Trip had said, munching on the potato chips he'd brought for their anti-grav picnic. "The energy flux's simply too strong for the scanners to pick up anythin'." He had grinned. "It's where I'd hide if I were a stowaway."

Malcolm had smiled back at the time, glad that Trip had told him - those places could indeed prove a security risk, especially if the Chief of Security didn't know about them.

Now, as he was running down the corridors, Malcolm was frantically going through his internal map of ship's systems, trying to determine which one of those blind spots Trip would have gone to.

_Jefferies tube 34, section F_, he thought, praying that he was right. It was the place closest to Trip's quarters, and the easiest to access, compared with the other two places that took a ten minutes journey to get to.

Malcolm punched the button to call the turbolift, a sharp pain shooting through his hand as his finger hit the panel. He swore under his breath, cradling his injured right hand to his chest and barely refrained from kicking the turbolift door when it didn't open immediately. For a second, he considered calling the transporter team and ordering them to do an emergency beam-out, but then he remembered that there was no way the transporter beam could lock onto anything within one of the blind spots. Which was, of course, why Trip would have chosen to go there.

Malcolm closed his eyes. Trip wasn't stupid, he knew that Phlox would notice at once if his bio sign disappeared, and would notify the Captain. Whatever he was about to do, Trip would know that he had to do it fast if he wanted it to work. And, Malcolm thought with a sinking feeling of realization, remembering the empty look in Trip's eyes, he was quite sure that Charles Tucker couldn't have been more serious about it.

Finally, the turbolift doors opened, and Malcolm went inside, about to jab the button for E deck when someone called his name.

"Malcolm, wait!"

Captain Archer came running down the corridor, and after a moment's hesitation, Malcolm waited until he had reached the lift doors. If Trip wasn't in the first blind spot, they could split up to check the other two. Once Archer was inside, Malcolm pressed the button, remembering just in time to use his left hand this time.

"You shouldn't go there on your own," Archer said quietly. For a moment, Malcolm had no idea what the Captain was talking about, then: "I'm not going to Trip's quarters, sir," he said.

Briefly, he explained about the blind spots. There was a look of doubt in Archer's eyes, but he said nothing, and Malcolm was glad he didn't.

The turbolift doors opened again and Malcolm all but squeezed out, almost bumping into Dr. Phlox who had apparently been waiting for them to arrive.

"He's not in his quarters," Phlox said. He was breathing heavily as if he had run all the way there from sickbay. "I used the override to get inside, but they were empty."

Malcolm never stopped to answer, running down the corridor towards the section where he knew the nearest access to the Jefferies tubes to be. Somewhere behind him, he heard running steps and the Captain calling his name, but he never even turned around. Malcolm had never been in the habit of praying - praying was relying on things he didn't understand, and Malcolm was loath to do so - but now he did, the same words running through his head like a frantic chant: _Don't let me be too late, please, please, don't let me be too late._

He ripped the access panel to the tube off the wall and dropped the metal plate to the floor. Jefferies tube 34 didn't look any different from the others, a gray tunnel with a metal grate for a floor and ducts running along the low ceiling. At the very end of this tube, however, Malcolm knew there was a tiny space, no more than two meters by two meters, that was one of the first places on the ship to check for a stowaway - or someone who didn't want to be disturbed in what he was doing.

He climbed inside, stooping as he began to walk along the narrow passage. Behind him, he could hear someone following him inside, the Captain, or maybe the doctor, but he never looked back. His voice echoed strangely in the cramped space.

"Trip!"

There was no answer, and Malcolm called out again, hoping for any noise that would betray another presence in there. The tube remained silent, however, and finally Malcolm reached the crossway leading to the blind spot. The light from the corridor behind was growing dimmer, and since Malcolm hadn't brought a flashlight, there was only the weak glow from the occasional wall panel to guide his way.

He went around the corner, and for a second froze in his tracks. Twenty meters ahead, exactly within the confines of the blind spot, lay a crumpled figure on the deck.

"Trip!"

Malcolm thought his legs would give out, but somehow he managed to cross the distance, dropping to his knees next to the unmoving body.

"Oh my God, Trip..."

Trip lay on his side, and when Malcolm grabbed him by the shoulder and rolled him over, he saw a reddish froth coming out of the engineer's mouth, dripping onto the metal grate below. Then he saw the hypospray lying on the floor.

"Move aside, Lieutenant!"

Malcolm was pushed to one side, Dr. Phlox taking his place with a scanner in his hand. "It's not working," the doctor said as he frantically recalibrated the settings. "We need to get him out of here."

Suddenly Archer was there, grabbing Malcolm's shoulder and shaking him out of his numbness. "Help me, Malcolm!"

He stepped over Trip's still body and grabbed him under the armpits, leaving it to Malcolm to lift up Trip's legs. As quickly as they could moving within the confined space, they carried Trip towards the exit of the tube, more than once bumping their heads and elbows on the metal walls. Phlox was following them, still working on his scanner which had ceased to function within the blind spot. Suddenly he grabbed Malcolm's arm from behind, almost causing him to stumble. "Put him down immediately!"

Malcolm opened his mouth, but the doctor only pushed him aside, kneeling down next to Trip whose body had gone into convulsions. As he stared down at the twitching form, Malcolm was shocked and infinitely relieved at the same time - dead people couldn't suffer a seizure.

"There's a toxic substance in his bloodstream," Phlox said, quickly running the now-working scanner over Trip's body. "Captain, hold him down so he doesn't hurt himself. Lieutenant, you turn his head to one side and clear his airways. Quick!"

They did as they were told, Malcolm forcing Trip's mouth open and sticking two fingers inside, reaming out as much of the bloodied froth as he could reach. Trip's face was deadly pale, and he was still shivering violently even after Phlox had stopped the convulsions with an injection.

"Is he..." Archer began, but the doctor cut him off.

"His body's fighting a losing battle against the poison, Captain. We need to get to him to sickbay as quickly as possible. I've called a med team, they should be here by now."

Malcolm and Archer didn't wait for Phlox to finish his sentence. Once the seizure was easing, they picked up the limp body and all but dragged him the last few meters to the entrance. Froth was still running out of Trip's mouth, leaving foamy, pinkish spots on his sweater and the floor.

The medical team was waiting outside, Liz Cutler and another med tech taking Trip and securing him on a gurney. Phlox climbed out of the Jefferies tube with uncharacteristic haste.

"Five milligram of Atropin!" he called out to Cutler, who quickly pulled out another hypospray and injected Trip. When she was done, the two male med techs lifted the gurney and began to jog down the corridor, followed by Phlox who was holding up his hand scanner and studying the data on the small screen. Malcolm made as if to go after them, but was stopped by Archer's hand on his arm.

"Wait," the Captain said. "We'd only be in their way."

Malcolm considered freeing his arm and following them all the same when he realized that Archer was right. Phlox and his team didn't need anyone under their feet as they tried to save Trip's life. His legs seemed to agree with the idea, suddenly giving out under him so that Malcolm found himself leaning on Archer's hand for support. The Captain hadn't let go of him, and now helped him sit down on the floor.

"It's okay," he said, of all things sounding as he did when talking to a frightened Porthos. The absurdity of the situation would have drawn a laugh from Malcolm, had he been able to utter any sound at the moment. Archer sat down next to him on the floor.

For a while, neither of them said anything. Inside the Jefferies tube, after they had discovered Trip in the blind spot, a rational part of Malcolm's mind had taken over, not allowing any emotional reaction until Trip lay safely on the gurney. Now the shock was working its way through his system, and Malcolm had a hard time controlling the trembling of his arms and legs. Seeing Trip convulsing on the floor, blood and saliva bubbling from his mouth, was a thing he knew he would never forget.

A hand came to rest on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "You okay?"

Malcolm managed to nod, and began to climb to his feet. "I have to go to sickbay."

Archer nodded and got up himself. He looked paler than usual, his hands shaking slightly as he straightened up into a standing position. "Lead the way."

----------------

Silence greeted them as they entered sickbay's main room, and for a second Malcolm had the awful image of Phlox drawing a sheet over a still form, shaking his head in regret when he became aware of Malcolm and the Captain. The doctor, however, was nowhere to be seen, and the beds that lined the far end of the room were empty, their bio screens dark.

"Dr. Phlox had the Commander taken into the OR," Liz Cutler suddenly said from behind, making them both jump. The young crewman sat at one of the computer monitors, an array of test tubes lined up in front of her. She looked pale. "He's managed to stabilize him, and is now trying to filter the poison out of his system."

Malcolm swallowed hard, the image of Trip dying on a bio bed still vividly in mind. "Does that... does that mean he'll make it?"

Cutler sighed. "I don't know, Lieutenant. If the poison's too strong, or has affected his vital organs..." She didn't finish her sentence, gesturing at the samples in front of her. "The doctor has me working on a stronger antidote, if the filtering doesn't work."

"Carry on, Crewman," Archer said, laying a hand on Malcolm's arm. "We'll wait here."

"Aye, sir." She gave him a rather shaky smile. Archer nodded, and gently but firmly pulled Malcolm away from her, to the back of the room. Malcolm allowed himself to be guided to a chair, wincing as he bumped his bruised hand on the armrest.

"What about Peters, Captain?" he asked, the pain clearing his thoughts for the first time since he had seen Trip lying on the floor of the Jefferies tube. "The Subcommander..."

"... has everything under control," Archer said. "I called Ensigns Schwartz and Hsan before I left. They're going to take them back to their quarters."

"Peters is injured, sir," Malcolm said quietly. He couldn't bring himself to meet the Captain's eyes.

"I'm sure someone took care of him," Archer said, although Malcolm couldn't help but notice that he didn't sound quite as concerned as he would have under normal circumstances. "Phlox will have a look at him when... when he finds the time."

Malcolm nodded, lowering his head again. He didn't speak for a long time, and when he did, it came out as a whisper.

"Why would he do such a thing?"

Archer's face was troubled, and it took a while before he answered. "I don't know, Malcolm." He remained silent for a while. "Frankly, I'm still trying to understand what happened here at all. There's... so much going on that I didn't know about... you may call me oblivious, but I never had any idea about you and Trip being together. Hell, I didn't even know that he went that way. Or you, for that matter. Not that it bothers me, but..." He sighed. "I wish he'd told me. And I wish I could've done something to prevent all of this."

"He wanted to tell you about us, Captain," Malcolm said quietly. "He said he felt like a bastard, keeping it from you, but I talked him out of it." A trace of shame crept into his voice. "I... I didn't want anyone to know. I... was afraid..." He trailed off. He wasn't quite sure what he had been afraid of. Maybe it was only his ingrained need for privacy wanting to shut out everybody else. Or maybe... the thought brought another rush of shame. Maybe he had been ashamed of himself. Maybe the idea of being in a relationship with another man hadn't quite fit in with Lieutenant Reed's self-image, even though he loved Trip with all his heart. Maybe he had been a total and complete arsehole, not the slightest bit better than Lieutenant Peters.

Malcolm rested his head on his hands. "I'm... sorry, Captain. I guess it's my fault he couldn't turn to me for help. He deserves better than that."

Archer crouched down in front of him, pulling Malcolm's hands away from his face. "What are you talking about, Malcolm?"

Malcolm swallowed. "Trip... he decided to end our relationship. He told me last night."

Archer's eyes rested on him for another moment, then he turned away, his face settling into angry lines. Malcolm waited, determined to take everything the Captain was going to say. It was going to hurt, hearing that he had let Trip down, that it was his fault Trip had tried - and maybe succeeded - to kill himself, but at the same time Malcolm wanted to hear it said aloud - wanted it acknowledged.

Archer turned back to him. "You know," he said softly, "it's not easy for me to say this. Trip's become like family to me. Being that close means that I know him very well, maybe even more so than you do." He paused. "And I know he can be a selfish bastard at times."

Whatever Malcolm had expected to hear, it wasn't this. "Captain?"

"Trip's never been good at keeping a relationship because he tends to run," Archer said. "As soon as there's trouble on the horizon, he shuts people out. Not because he doesn't care about them anymore; it's just that he wants to deal with everything on his own, fix it like he fixes his engines. And if that doesn't work, he believes it's his fault, and leaves. Because he's done enough damage already, and doesn't know how to cope with the hurt." Archer sighed. "That's where the selfish part comes in. Trip tries to escape his problems instead of dealing with them. And I guess that's why he's in there right now, because running away didn't work out this time."

Malcolm said nothing. Maybe, deep down, he could sympathize with Archer's words, felt angry at Trip for doing such a thing instead of coming to him for help, but it didn't really matter. If Trip died in there, it didn't matter why he had done it, and who was to blame.

"It's not your fault, Malcolm." Archer searched his face before he added, "You understand that, don't you?"

Malcolm shrugged and lowered his eyes. _I wasn't there when he injected himself with that hypospray_. _How can it not be my fault?_

He spared Archer the question, however. The Captain's best friend was possibly dying in there, and Malcolm didn't want Archer to feel obliged to comfort Trip's whining lover.

"Malcolm...," Archer began, but was interrupted by the sound of a door swishing open. They turned around to see Phlox coming out of the OR, taking off his surgical gloves and dropping them onto the counter. He looked exhausted.

Archer got up, as did Malcolm and Liz Cutler. "Doctor?"

Phlox sighed. "We nearly lost him for a moment there, but... he's going to make it."

The Captain only stood there, his shoulders sagging as if someone had taken a heavy weight off them. Liz smiled, and Malcolm closed his eyes. He didn't want to cry, not again; he had done enough crying. Eventually, to his relief, the stinging sensation lessened. Malcolm opened his eyes again... and felt a smile spread on his face.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	10. Chapter 10

****

Title

: Killing Thing****

Author

: Sita Z****

Genre

: Angst/Drama****

Rating

: PG 13****

AN:

Sorry for the delay, and thank you for your reviews!****

Please note that this chapter is rated R for language and sexual content!

Chapter 10

It had been painful. More than that; it had been agony.

Of course, Trip had known that it would hurt. It had even seemed fitting that it wouldn't be completely painless. In a way, he had expected the pain to be a cleansing sensation, like washing an infected wound with alcohol to kill all the dirty, hurtful things inside. The pain would scour him clean of the hurt, would leave him raw and empty for a few, blissful seconds before he gave himself up to oblivion.

It was these few, painless seconds Trip had been thinking about as he carefully filled the colorless substance into the hypospray; the darkness that would follow them had only seemed a fair part of the deal. Darkness and oblivion were the necessary consequence if you wanted to get rid of the hurt inside, and at that point, Trip would have tried anything.

When it came, however, a second after he had released the colorless substance into his veins, the pain was not - was anything but - liberating. He had never felt anything like it, as if a knife were laying his veins open from the inside, piercing his muscles and cutting his nerves into shreds. He had tried to scream, his hands clawing at the cold metal grating of the floor, but his throat seemed to have swollen, something huge and hard blocking his airway and muffling his voice. The poison had burned its way through his body, and those few seconds he had been waiting for had been nothing but plain agony. No release, no "letting go", just pain and fear of what the poison would do to him before it finally allowed him to die. And, if he was being quite honest, also fear of death itself. If the process of dying was that terrible, he did not even want to know what awaited him in the unknown beyond. Trip remembered gasping for breath, trying to fill his lungs with air again, even though he had known it would only prolong his agony if he fought the poison. Quite suddenly, however, it had seemed desperately important that he fight, that he did not give up. That he stayed alive.

And then it had been over. There had been no moment of relief, no staring down at his lifeless body from above, only a sudden, instant blackness before he had been woken by the cold feeling of yet another hypospray against his neck.

Trip lay with his eyes closed, aware of the pain that was only a far-away throbbing now. Vaguely, he remembered someone taking him in here, hands lifting him onto this bed, voices talking in muffled tones. Several times, they had addressed him, asking if he was in pain and if he remembered what had happened, which seemed a stupid question. Of course he remembered. The pain had etched those endless seconds in the Jefferies tube on his mind, and he wasn't going to forget any of it; the agony, his desperate struggle, the knowledge that he was going to die.

Suddenly, Trip felt the urge to laugh. There he had been, thinking that it couldn't get any worse, that everything was better than going on the way he had, and then he had gone and dug himself even deeper into the shit which had already come up all the way to his chin. It was pathetic, the more he thought about it. Failed to kill himself, and now that he was here, alive and exactly where he had not wanted to be, he realized that he would not be able to pluck up the courage to try again. Or, more precisely, the heart to do it again. The simple and pitiful truth was that he did not want to die, something he had realized as he had dug his fingers into the deck and gasped to catch one more breath before the poison finished him off. He wanted to live, as much as he hated himself for admitting it. And he did not want to face that pain again.

Trip exhaled deeply, his laugh of before almost turning into something else.

__

Oh yes. Messed up big this time, Tucker.

* * *

"Can I see him?"

More than anything else, Malcolm wanted to make sure with his own eyes that Trip was, if not all right, at least alive and safe.

"I'm afraid I can't allow you to go in there just yet, Lieutenant," Phlox said, heavily sitting down on a chair. "Right now, Crewman Barry and Ensign Li are taking him to the IC unit. I want to be sure his vitals are completely stable before he receives any visitors." He glanced at Liz Cutler, who was busy putting test tubes back into the sample container. "Thank you for your assistance, Crewman."

She smiled. "I'm glad Commander Tucker is feeling better."

Uncharacteristically, Phlox only nodded in response without answering her smile. "Indeed."

Liz studied him for a moment, as if she wanted to ask something. Then she seemed to decide against it, picking up the sample container and turning to the door.

"I'll take those back to the science lab, doctor. Just call me if you need me, okay?"

This time, the doctor did smile, although it was only a weak rendering of his usual bright grin. "I will. Thank you, Crewman."

The sickbay doors closed behind her, and Archer looked back at Phlox. "Is he awake? Did you talk to him?"

"Commander Tucker did wake up after we had filtered most of the coolant out of his blood," the doctor replied slowly. "He was somewhat "out of it", as you would put it, and did not say much."

"Coolant?" Malcolm repeated, a cold feeling spreading in his stomach. "He injected himself with..."

"Liquid plasma coolant, yes." Phlox' lips thinned. "I expect he used a hypospray from one of the emergency medkits."

Malcolm and Archer exchanged a look. Both of them had instructed newcomers how to handle starship equipment, and remembered very well the lesson that was drummed into every engineering greenhorn: Never, absolutely never touch plasma coolant, and if you do inadvertently touch it, get to a doctor straight away.

Although the substance was not acidic, it was highly poisonous, and had the unfortunate characteristic of infiltrating the skin even at brief contact. Coolant poisoning could turn out very unpleasant, even fatal, if it wasn't treated in time. Trip had known this, of course, doing his utmost to escape them so any medical help would come too late.

Before either of them could think of something to say, the door to the IC unit opened and two of Phlox' medical staff came out.

"His readings are stable," Ensign Li, a thin Asian with a mop of black, barely Starfleet regulation hair reported to the doctor. He threw a side-glance at Malcolm and Archer before continuing, "He still seems rather confused, though."

Phlox stood up. "That is to be expected. Thank you, Ensign, Crewman." He dismissed the two of them with a nod, then looked at Malcolm and the Captain. "You can go to see him now."

"Do you want me to wait-" Archer began in Malcolm's direction, but Malcolm shook his head. Truth was, he was rather relieved not to have to go in there on his own. Archer nodded, and, followed by Phlox, they went over to the door of the IC. This time, it was not locked, and Malcolm felt his hand tremble slightly as he pressed the panel on the door frame. Having no idea what he was going to find in there, he automatically assumed the worst, and had to force himself to step into the dimly lit room.

When he saw Trip, Malcolm's first thought was that he had found his assumptions to be confirmed. Trip's face was of a pasty gray color, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen; an inflammatory reaction to the poison, Malcolm assumed. Tubes were coming out of his arms, snaking their way both to an IV bag and a strange, box-shaped gadget attached to the bio monitor, probably a filtering device of sorts. What was even worse, however, were the restraints that secured Trip's hands to the bed rails, effectively immobilizing his arms.

The sight of Trip, sick and strapped down on a bio bed, was almost more than Malcolm could bear. He turned around to Phlox. "Are the restraints really necessary, doctor?"

Phlox regarded him calmly. "Indeed, Lieutenant. Commander Tucker has proven that he is suicidal, and I'm not willing to take any chances."

In a horrible way, the doctor's words made sense, and Malcolm decided to let it go, walking over to the bed instead. Trip's head turned on the pillow, blood-shot eyes focusing on the three approaching figures.

"M-Malcolm?" His voice was barely recognizable. Malcolm, surprised and immensely relieved that Trip had spoken at all, rested a hand on Trip's arm.

"Yes, it's me," he said quietly. "And the Captain's here to see you as well."

Trip turned to look at Archer, who had stepped up on the other side of the bed. "Cap'n..." He closed his eyes, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. "God, I'm so sorry."

"You should be," Archer said. His tone was gentle, but there was no amused or forgiving glint in his eyes. "Malcolm here and I ought to kick your butt for the stunt you pulled back there."

Trip nodded, a tear snaking its way down his cheek. "Yeah," he whispered. "I guess you should."

Malcolm reached out and wiped away the tear, very gently. "Why would you do such a thing, Trip?"

Trip shook his head. "I dunno." His accent thickened, as always when he was upset. "Guess... guess I wasn't thinkin'." He turned his head to look directly at Malcolm. "I let you down, Mal. I'm so sorry."

Malcolm had no idea what to say, and so he simply reached down to take Trip's hand, squeezing it gently. Trip turned to meet the Captain's eyes.

"Cap'n-" he began, but Archer cut him off.

"Don't say sorry, Trip," he said, a harsh undertone in his voice. "Sorry won't change anything. What I want to hear from you..." He leaned forward for greater emphasis, resting his hands on the bed. "All I want to hear from you is that you're never - NEVER - going to try such a thing again. Understood?"

Trip nodded. "Promise," he said hoarsely.

"Good." Archer straightened up again and rested a hand on Trip's shoulder. "You scared the hell out of me there, Trip. Don't you ever do that again."

The Captain's hand remained on Trip's shoulder, and Malcolm watched the mute exchange between the two men, Trip asking for forgiveness and Jonathan saying what Captain Archer hadn't said aloud, how glad he was to have his friend back.

Finally, Archer drew his hand back, after a last, gentle squeeze to Trip's shoulder that conveyed, if not an absolution, at least a reassurance that for now, things were okay between the two of them.

"Get some rest," Archer said, then glanced at Malcolm. "I guess the two of you have some talking to do."

The message was unmistakable, and at any other time Malcolm would have been embarrassed. At the moment, however, he knew it was Jonathan talking, the man who had tried so hard to befriend him in the past ten months, and Malcolm accepted it with a small nod.

Phlox came to check Trip's readings one more time, adjusting the filtering device and fussing with the IV before he followed the Captain to the door. Malcolm noticed that Trip was avoiding the doctor's gaze, tracing the blanket's creases with his eyes while Phlox worked.

__

He's ashamed

, Malcolm realized, another thought crossing his mind before he could stop it:

_And he bloody well should be._

Now that he knew Trip was out of danger, shock and horror were slowly being replaced by another feeling. It took Malcolm a while to realize that it was anger, mixed with relief and deep gratitude that Trip had survived. Still, anger was definitely part of it, and Malcolm found himself thinking that the butt kicking Archer had mentioned might not be such a bad idea, after all.

__

Yes, indeed... I should kick his sorry arse from here into next week for putting me through this.

"Malcolm?"

His thoughts must have reflected on his face, for the question came rather timidly. Malcolm raised his head and saw Trip watching him anxiously.

When he didn't respond, Trip continued softly, "I jus' wanted you to know that I'm terribly sorry for...all of this..." He tried to raise a hand, but the restraint stopped him, and so he moved his chin instead, the gesture including his bed and the entire ICU. "For doin' this to you, I mean. I..." He bit his lips, and had trouble keeping his voice steady as he continued, "These past few days, ever since...ever since we came back from the planet, I couldn't think of anythin' but what... what they did. I knew I was bein' a bastard, but... it was always there, y'know? Wouldn't go away, no matter what I did." He averted his eyes. "In the end, I couldn't take it anymore. I just couldn't. I'm so sorry, Mal."

Malcolm noticed the tears that had formed in Trip's eyes, and the way the other man was trying to hold them back, as if allowing them to fall would make him weak in Malcolm's eyes. Part of Malcolm wanted to talk no more, take Trip into his arms and reassure him that it was okay to cry, but there were still things that needed to be said.

"You could've told me all of this before." He searched Trip's face, and found only pain and regret. "You could have talked to me, you know. I would have listened."

"I know." Trip lowered his eyes.

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

When there was no answer, Malcolm reached out and cupped a hand under Trip's chin, gently turning his head so he could look at him.

"Why couldn't you talk to me, Trip?"

For the first time, Trip didn't flinch away from his touch. "I... don't know. I didn't think you'd even want to look at me. I didn't see how you could stand to do so, after..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

Malcolm stared at him. "Trip, you don't think I blame you for what they did?"

Trip said nothing, which was an answer in itself. For a moment, Malcolm only sat there, then, before any thought of Phlox could stop him, he reached out and undid the fastenings of the restraints. Once Trip's hands were free, Malcolm lowered the safety rail and sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching out and pulling the other man into a hug. There was a second of tension, then Trip relaxed, and a moment later Malcolm became aware of careful hands slipping around his waist, returning the embrace.

"Trip," he whispered, stroking the sweaty hair. "Why would you ever think I'd blame you?"

"I shoulda fought them." The soft statement was full of self-deprecation, even loathing. "I shoulda..."

"What, Trip?" Malcolm said as calmly as he could. "What should you have done?"

"I shouldn't have just let 'em do it!" Trip was shouting now, although the sound was muffled against Malcolm's shoulder. "They held me down an' I... I... couldn't move..."

"There was nothing you could have done, Trip," Malcolm said, barely aware that he was raising his voice as well. "Nothing. Those men are trained fighters. There was no way you could have stopped them."

A wet warmth on his shoulder told him that Trip was crying, although the other man was still desperately trying to hold back the sobs. "They kept sayin' that... that I was a goddamn queer and a slut and that I wanted it to happen, and I... I keep thinkin', what if they were right?"

Malcolm's temper flared as he listened to Trip softly repeating the foul slurs, and for a short moment found himself wishing he had broken Peters' neck instead of the man's nose. Keeping a tight grip on his anger, Malcolm continued to run his hands up and down Trip's back, talking into the disheveled blond hair.

"They weren't. You didn't want for any of this to happen. Whatever they said, it only shows how low they really are. You did nothing wrong."

"But..." Trip's next words were so soft that Malcolm didn't catch them.

"I'm sorry?"

"I... I reacted," Trip whispered. "When... when they... I..."

"You had an erection," Malcolm stated calmly. Phlox had talked to him about this particular subject, explaining to him how important it was that it didn't go unmentioned, only to become the source of misguided guilt later on. "That's perfectly normal. It was a reaction of your body to physical stimuli, and not in any way an indication that you enjoyed what was going on. Or consented to it."

Trip said nothing in response, and Malcolm could only imagine how much it had cost him to mention it at all. Trip, despite his out-going, sociable personality, was a deeply private person where intimacy was concerned, and to admit what had happened to him during the rape had to be one of the hardest things he had ever done.

There didn't seem anything left to be said at the moment, and so Malcolm only sat there, stroking Trip's back as he cried and continuing to do so long after the sobs had ebbed away.

He listened to the sound of Trip's breathing next to his ear, and tried not to think of what he would have done if they had been too late. His anger of before had disappeared - staying angry couldn't change what had happened, and he wasn't going to push Trip away, not now. Not when he was finally letting go, allowing himself to acknowledge the pain and anger and rage he had kept inside all this time.

Eventually, Trip stirred, and Malcolm loosened his grip so they could look at each other. Trip's face was still pale, his eyes red and puffy from his crying and the poison's after-effects. Malcolm instinctively reached out to smooth away a wayward strand of hair, and Trip smiled - very faintly, but a real genuine smile. He reached out and touched Malcolm's uniform where his head had been resting.

"Got ya all wet. Sorry."

Malcolm smiled in response. "That's all right." He reached out and took Trip's hand. "Just as long as you promise me the same thing you promised Captain Archer."

Trip nodded. "Yeah," he said softly. Malcolm, realizing he wasn't finished, waited for him to continue. Finally, Trip said quietly, "Look, I... I know I was bein' a damn bastard, an'... an' if you say you... don't want me back, I'll accept that. I just wanted to... to say thank you, for bein' there."

Malcolm stared at him, not sure whether to laugh or cry. When he finally answered, there was a bit of both in his voice. "Of all the daft ideas you had, Mr. Tucker... do you really think I'd drag you out of that Jefferies Tube and wait for the doctor to save your sorry arse just to tell you I didn't want you back?"

Another smile, not quite so faint, crept onto Trip's face. Malcolm considered, then, carefully, he leaned forward again, took Trip's face into both his hands and kissed him. It was a very gentle kiss, only their lips touching, and Malcolm felt himself reminded of the first time they had kissed, back on that deathtrap disguising as a shuttlepod. In a way, this felt just the same.

When they broke apart, he found himself smiling like a fool, a warm feeling spreading in the pit of his stomach. He knew that all was not fine; only a look at Trip affirmed him that this was not over by a long time. But still, he had held Trip and they had kissed, and for now, that was quite enough.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	11. Chapter 11

**Title**: Killing Thing

**Author**: Sita Z

**Genre**: Angst/Drama

**Rating**: PG 13

**AN: **Thank you for the feedback, it's very much appreciated :)!

---------------

Chapter 11

Malcolm sat on his chair next to Trip's bedside, watching his partner sleep. Trip looked peaceful, if maybe a little too pale, his hands resting on the blanket and no longer strapped to the rails on either side of the bed as they had been when Malcolm had come to see him the day before. It was a relief, having managed to convince Phlox that this particular safety measure wasn't necessary anymore, even though Malcolm's persistency had brought him very close to having his first real argument with Enterprise's doctor. Eventually, however, Phlox had given in, under the condition that someone always stayed with Trip. Malcolm was happy to comply, assuring the doctor he'd spend every minute of his off-duty time in sickbay; a promise that had elicited a little smile from Phlox despite their disagreement. "That would be a first, Lieutenant," he had said, obviously resigning to the fact that there was nothing he could do.

Still lost in thought, Malcolm reached out and began to run his hand through his sleeping partner's hair. Trip did look better than he had yesterday, but it was only too obvious for Malcolm's tastes that all was not well, not by a long time. According to the doctor, Trip's metabolism was in an uproar, still fighting the poisonous invader that had left its traces throughout his system. Phlox had done all he could to filter the coolant out of his blood, but still, Trip had spent most of the night bent over a bedside basin, retching and heaving as his stomach struggled to empty itself again and again, until Phlox had finally given him something to help the nausea. At first, the doctor had been reluctant to do so, claiming that Trip's body didn't need any more drugs to deal with, although Malcolm wasn't sure if that was really the only reason why Phlox had hesitated to give Trip a hypospray for his symptoms. Maybe Phlox thought that a little discomfort would serve as a much-needed reminder if Trip ever considered doing a repeat performance. He needn't have worried, though. Between Trip's bouts of nausea, when Malcolm had contented himself with stroking his partner's back and murmuring words of reassurance, he and Trip had done a lot of talking that night, and Malcolm knew that Trip was not going to try and hurt himself again. Malcolm saw no use in fooling himself; Trip was still depressive, still blaming himself, somewhere deep down, that he had not been able to stop the assault, and he was not back to the Trip Malcolm had known, a person who took everything in his stride and found something positive in the bleakest of situations. But he no longer wished himself dead, and had told Malcolm as much. From the little Trip had said, the few seconds before the poison had overwhelmed him had been one of the most terrifying experiences in his life, and certainly not something he was going to do again.

_And he better bloody keep that promise_, Malcolm thought as he continued to stroke Trip's hair, thinking of the time when he had not known whether Trip was going to make it. _I don't think I could go through this again._

Trip shifted a little on the pillow and Malcolm rested his hand on a pale cheek, caressing the stubble that was beginning to grow on Trip's jaw.

_If you ever even think of hurting yourself, Mr. Tucker... I'm going to kill you myself, then dig you up and do it all over again. Just so you know._

As if he had picked up on Malcolm's thoughts, Trip sighed a little in his sleep, and Malcolm smiled.

_That's much better._

The door swished open, and Malcolm, expecting to see Phlox, withdrew his hand from Trip's face. It was the Captain, however, standing next to the door as if he wasn't sure whether he had come at an inopportune moment.

"Sir," Malcolm said softly, gesturing at the chair next to his. "Why don't you take a seat."

The Captain smiled and came over. "Thanks," he said as he sat down, speaking equally quietly so as not to wake Trip. He glanced at the sleeping man. "How is he?"

"Better," Malcolm said. "He had half a bowl of noodle soup for dinner. After last night, I was surprised he was able to keep anything down."

Archer, who had come to sickbay around 3 am to sit with Trip for a while, ordering Malcolm to catch some sleep on the adjoining biobed when he refused to go back to his quarters, nodded in grim agreement. "I'd say serves him right for pulling such an idiotic stunt, but I believe he's being punished enough already."

Malcolm nodded, noticing out of the corner of his eye how tired Archer looked. Like Malcolm, he had disregarded the doctor's suggestion to take the day off, and now bore the look of a man who has been running on pure adrenaline for too long. Even so, he had practically ordered Malcolm off the bridge and to the messhall half an hour before the Lieutenant's shift had ended, cracking a line about not wanting his Armory Officer to collapse from low blood sugar and completely ignoring the fact that he himself had not eaten since they had found Trip on the floor of the Jefferies tube.

"I had a call from Admiral Forrest this afternoon," the Captain said. Malcolm turned his head.

"The mission report?"

Archer nodded. "It would be an understatement to say that he was shocked."

"And I guess it didn't help when you told him about..." Malcolm didn't finish his sentence and glanced at his sleeping partner. He could only imagine how the Admiral had reacted, hearing that one of his senior staff had tried to commit suicide.

"No," Archer said heavily. "I can't say he was thrilled when I came to that particular piece of news." He was silent for a while. "They're thinking about holding a court-martial," he said then. Malcolm turned to look at him, feeling as if someone had suddenly doused him with cold water.

"They want to court-martial him? Because he tried to kill himself? That's-"

"Not Trip," Archer interrupted. "Peters, Kelsey and Florez. Forrest says it's standard procedure."

Malcolm shook his head. "He read the report, sir. It should be obvious that standard regulations don't apply in this case."

"That's what I said," Archer replied. "He said they were going to review the data and take the circumstances into consideration. But..." The Captain hesitated, then: "If they do decide to hold a court-martial, Trip will have to testify."

Malcolm stared at him. "In front of Starfleet Command?"

The Captain seemed uncomfortable. "Admirals Forrest and Scott would attend via subspace communication, so basically, yes. At least Trip wouldn't have to go back to Earth."

_Well, isn't that generous of them_. Malcolm bit his lip to stop the comment from slipping out. _Of course_ Starfleet would want to follow the usual procedure - Starfleet administration was no different from any similar bureaucratic institution, firmly believing in the utmost value of inventing regulations for every possible and impossible situation - and of course they would want the victim to testify. He should have been expecting this. Still, the idea of Trip having to face an investigation board that wanted to know each and every detail of what had happened on the planet...

"Couldn't he testify beforehand?" Malcolm asked, though with little hope. As he had half expected, Archer shook his head.

"I'm afraid not. They need him to attend so they can ask questions."

The Captain's disgusted expression reflected Malcolm's own feelings at the idea. He trusted Forrest not to torment Trip with needlessly intrusive questions, but the investigation officer - and there was going to be one for sure - was another matter entirely.

"It's not decided yet, though, " Archer said. "I suggested to Forrest that under the circumstances, it should be up to Trip to decide whether he wants to press charges."

"What did he say?"

Archer sighed. "He needs to review the data before he can give me an opinion. I asked T'Pol to send them a scientific statement on the effect of the Ru'khi atmosphere, but I don't know if it's going to do any good." He scowled. "I guess they're going to analyze it to death only to decide that it doesn't matter, after all."

Knowing the way Starfleet bureaucracy worked, Malcolm was inclined to agree. He looked back at Trip and suddenly felt the urge to protect him, to spare him the ordeal of having to recount every ugly detail to Starfleet Command. And they were going to go for details, Malcolm had no doubt about it.

"What about Peters, Kelsey and Florez?" he wanted to know. "Did the Admiral say if they're going to stay on Enterprise?"

Archer shook his head. "We're to keep them confined to quarters for now, until they set a date for the hearing... if there's going to be any hearing at all. Forrest wasn't too clear on that point."

Malcolm was silent for a while, digesting all that he had heard. "Permission to speak freely, sir?" he asked then, quietly.

The Captain let out a small sigh. "Malcolm, this isn't a by-the-book command situation. I appreciate any input you can give me."

Malcolm acknowledged this with a small nod. "Sir, I realize my attacking Lieutenant Peters was a serious offence and I'm ready to face the consequences. Still... I don't think Peters and the two Ensigns can possibly remain on Enterprise, even if Trip decides not to press charges. I can't see how Trip could work with them on a daily basis, and to be honest, sir, I don't think I could do so myself. There's..."

A noise from the bed interrupted him. Malcolm turned his head, expecting to find Trip awake - and stopped in mid-movement when he saw what was happening. A tremble ran through the sleeping figure on the bed, as if he were shuddering in his dreams.

"Trip?"

Malcolm got up and went to Trip's side, his alarm growing when the other man's breathing began to come in short, ragged gasps. Trip's eyes were tightly clenched shut, but he wasn't sleeping quietly anymore, his hands clawing at the sheets as if he were in pain.

Archer had gotten up. "I'll get the doc."

He hadn't finished yet when the door to the IC unit opened again. Phlox wasted no time, hurrying over to Trip's bedside without so much as a look at Malcolm or Archer. Liz Cutler followed in his wake, and from the worried expression on her face Malcolm gleaned that whatever was happening here couldn't be good.

"What's going on?" the Captain wanted to know, watching as Phlox administered a hypospray to the still unconscious man. In the meantime, Trip's face had begun to take on a dark red shade, and the rising and falling of his chest reminded Malcolm more of a seizure than regular breathing. His hands were no longer clenching the bed sheets, and lay twitching at his sides.

Phlox ignored Archer completely, quickly recalibrating the settings of the filtering device that was connected to Trip's arm. Liz spared a short glance over her shoulder.

"He's having a belated reaction to the poison," she said. "We saw on the monitors outside what was happening."

Unable to move or look away, Malcolm watched as Trip's body suddenly arched off the bed, caught in a full-blown seizure. There wasn't so much as a small moan escaping Trip's lips, and somehow the total silence made it even worse to watch.

"Hold him still, Crewman!" Phlox waited until Liz had a firm grip on Trip's upper arms, then pressed the hypospray against Trip's neck. For a second, it seemed as if nothing had happened, except for Trip gasping for air when the injector touched his skin. Then, slowly, the convulsions began to ease, and after several minutes during which both Liz and the doctor gently kept a hold on Trip's arms and legs, the twitching disappeared, Trip's body slumping back against the bed. His face was covered with a thin film of sweat, and he looked as if he had just run a marathon, but his breathing, at least, had returned to normal.

"Wh-what..."

Only then did Malcolm notice that Trip had come to, a frightened and confused expression in his eyes. Phlox gave him another injection before he laid the hypospray aside.

"It's all right, Commander. Please try to relax. The injection should help with any pain you may be experiencing." He nodded at Liz, who moved back to Trip's side. "We'll have to move you onto your side, Commander, to help your breathing. Careful, now..."

Trip let it happen, his eyes searching the room while Liz and the doctor carefully rolled him over so he came to lie on his left side.

"Mal," he said hoarsely once he had spotted him standing next to Archer. "What's... goin' on?"

Malcolm exchanged a glance with Phlox. The doctor nodded, and Malcolm stepped closer to the bed. Belatedly, he noticed that the shock had turned his lower limbs into a wobbly mass resembling a particularly slimy brand of jelly, and was grateful when Archer slid a chair under him at exactly the right moment.

"Y'okay, Mal?"

Despite himself, Malcolm smiled at Trip's worried expression. "That's what I was about to ask you. How do you feel?"

Trip shrugged, as if he honestly couldn't tell. "Kinda fuzzy, I guess. What happened?"

Malcolm reached out and began to smooth Trip's hair out of his forehead. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Liz Cutler smile, and wasn't surprised that she, too, had guessed what was going on between the Chief Engineer and the Armory Officer. In fact, Malcolm thought with a touch of resignation, after all that had happened in the last few days, he'd be surprised if there were anyone left on the ship who _didn't _know.

"Mal?" Trip prompted, sounding slightly impatient now. "What's wrong? What happened to me?"

"You had a seizure," Malcolm informed him quietly. "You were sleeping when you suddenly went into convulsions. Dr. Phlox and Crewman Cutler stopped the attack."

Trip remained silent for a while, and there was no way to tell if the news had upset him. Finally, he let out a small sigh, addressing no one on particular as he said, "Well, I guess it's my own fault, really."

"That it is," a voice somewhere above Malcolm's head said, and he half-turned to see that the Captain had stepped closer to the bed, looking at Trip with a mixture of affection and concern. "How're you feeling, Trip?"

Trip dragged up a rather fake smile, which Malcolm recognized as his partner's "I'm-feeling-like-hell-but-I'll-be-damned-if-they're-gonna-know-it" expression. "I'm okay."

Like Malcolm, the Captain appeared to have seen that particular smile before, and didn't look remotely convinced. He seemed to know, however, that there was no use in arguing with Trip, and let it pass. "That's good to hear." He sat down on his former chair next to Malcolm. "You should try and get some rest, Trip. Malcolm and I'll stay here."

"Captain." Phlox' voice drew everyone's attention back to the doctor and Liz, who had been studying Trip's bio monitor. The doctor kept his face carefully schooled to a professional mask as he continued, and Malcolm found that he didn't like the expression one bit. "Lieutenant. If you could spare a moment..."

He glanced meaningfully at the door, well aware that Trip had his back turned to him and wouldn't catch the unspoken message. Archer got up immediately.

"Of course, doc," he said, far too casually. Malcolm met Liz' gaze, and found the same worry there that he had seen in Phlox' eyes.

_Bad news_, her expression said. She tilted her head slightly to indicate that he should go with the doctor. _I'll take care of things._

Malcolm acknowledged the silent message and got up. "Be right back, Trip."

"No."

Both Phlox and Archer turned around at that. Ignoring Liz' hand on his shoulder, Trip propped himself up on one elbow and looked directly at the doctor.

"If there's somethin' wrong, then I want to know."

Phlox regarded him for a long time, and finally inclined his head. "Very well." He went back to the bio bed, looking at Trip as he reached out for the monitor. "You may want to sit up to have a look at this, Commander."

Malcolm helped Trip turn around so he had a clear view of the monitor, his hand finding that of his partner and closing around it. It was a lover's gesture, and Malcolm knew very well that everyone in the room was aware of it. Which was perfectly fine, as far as he was concerned. Catching Trip's surprised look, Malcolm felt another twitch in the corner of his mouth. He could only imagine what his partner would say if Malcolm Reed suddenly announced that they had better things to do with their time than obsessively hide their relationship from everybody else.

In the meantime, Phlox had called up a new image on the bio screen, and Malcolm immediately recognized it for what it was - a sectional view of a human brain, highlighted in several places. The doctor turned back to his audience, who had become very still.

"This is a schematic version of a brain scan I took during Commander Tucker's seizure." He turned directly to Trip. "Earlier scans indicated that the poison hasn't done any lasting damage to your vital organs, but there's always the possibility of a belated response, especially with a substance as complex as this one. I'm afraid that's what we're dealing with here."

Malcolm's mouth had suddenly gone very dry. He tightened his fingers around Trip's, hoping to reassure him through the gesture. Phlox pointed to one of the highlighted brain compartments, a small blue patch next to where the base of the skull would have been.

"One of the affected regions is the cerebellum, which controls and processes movement," he said. "Your seizure was a reaction to what the poison's done to that part of your brain."

Trip's hand was beginning to feel moist under his fingers, although Malcolm couldn't tell whether it was Trip's cold sweat or his own. Somehow, he managed to speak up in a fairly normal voice. "_One_ of the affected regions, doctor?"

"I'm afraid so." Phlox gestured at the other highlighted parts. "There are also three places in the frontal lobes that have been affected by the poison, although I cannot say how severely."

"What do you mean when you say affected?" the Captain wanted to know.

Phlox turned to look at him. "I can't be entirely sure yet as to the exact damage that has been done, but..." He sighed. "There are going to be more seizures like the one Commander Tucker experienced earlier... I'm afraid it's a permanent condition."

Malcolm felt the blood drain from his face. "You mean he's going to have them for the rest of his life?"

Phlox simply nodded. Trip was still sitting statue-like on the bed, his only reaction to the doctor's affirmative a slight tension of the shoulders.

"There's also the _possibility_" - the doctor stressed the word deliberately - "that motoric and sensory disorders will occur, but it doesn't necessarily need to happen. I'll have to do more scans before I can tell for certain."

_Oh God_. Malcolm closed his eyes for a second, if only to avoid looking at the image on the screen, which depicted the reality of what was happening here. It seemed so damn unfair, a needlessly cruel punishment for a mistake made out of despair. If there had been any chance of Trip staying in Starfleet after his suicide attempt, Phlox' diagnosis had blasted it into tiny pieces, leaving him with nothing but the prospect of living out his life as a disabled person. What made it even worse was that on a merely practical level, Trip had only himself to blame. And Trip, Malcolm had come to know, was a very practically thinking person.

Not knowing what else to do or say, Malcolm reached out and pulled his partner into a hug. At first, the other man didn't react at all, then he carefully slipped his arms around Malcolm's waist in response and leaned against him, all in perfect silence. Malcolm closed his eyes again, resting his head on Trip's shoulder.

_So damn unfair._

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	12. Chapter 12

**Title**: Killing Thing

**Author**: Sita Z

**Genre**: Angst/Drama

**Rating**: PG 13

**AN: **Thanks for your reviews, everybody!

**To "Totally Random":** Thank you for letting me know, I'm sure it wasn't easy. If you would like to e-mail me (the address is on my profile page), I'd be happy to talk if you would like to do so.

---------------

Chapter 12

Malcolm lay on his back, staring at the ceiling and listening to the soft beat of music coming from the adjoining bed. A brief glance in Trip's direction assured him that his partner was still resting quietly, the ear pieces of his music player plugged into place. As he caught Malcolm's gaze, Trip blinked once and smiled a little, about the only movement he could make in his current position. The new radiation treatment Phlox had come up with required that he lie perfectly still while the small devices attached to his forehead did their job, bombarding the affected cells with pencilled rays that were supposed to have an adverse effect on the poison. Whether or not the treatment would have any effect at all was yet to be seen, but there was no stone the doctor would leave unturned in his attempt to help Trip. To ensure that his patient didn't inadvertently move, Phlox had padded Trip's bed with at least twenty spare pillows, tucking them everywhere so that Trip was effectively immobilized.

"What if I need to... you know," Trip had asked, only to be assured that the catheter which was to be attached in a few minutes would take care of everything in that respect. Although Trip didn't let it show, Malcolm knew how his partner felt at the prospect of having to lie perfectly still for twelve hours, and did all he could to make it a little easier for him. They'd spent the first four hours watching movies, then Malcolm had to go on shift, returning six hours later with a book and several of Trip's music discs. At the time, Trip had been bored out of his mind and more than grateful for any diversion whatsoever, although he insisted that Malcolm take a rest and eat the dinner Phlox had brought for him.

Now with only about half an hour left, both Malcolm and Trip were counting the seconds until Phlox would remove the radiation devices. Trip was getting more than a little stir-crazy, and Malcolm found that it was about time Trip could scratch his own nose again. He didn't even want to know what they looked like, him getting up from time to time to scratch whatever body part Trip claimed was "itchin' like hell". Liz' barely suppressed snorts gave him a pretty good idea, though.

Malcolm closed his eyes and sighed, succumbing to a general weariness. The past few days had been straining, for him as well as for Trip. Ever since Phlox had found out about the belated response to the poison, he and Liz had holed themselves up in the science lab, running myriads of tests to find a loophole in the rather depressing diagnosis of four days ago. So far, Trip had spent hours in the scan unit, had been confined to the decon chamber for a number of times, and had even had a Mylgarian algae colony planted on his left forearm, to see if he developed an allergic reaction. Malcolm wasn't sure where the algae colony would go if Trip _didn't_ show an allergic reaction, but he hadn't asked Phlox about it. Weird and exotic treatments aside, Malcolm trusted Enterprise's doctor more than any other physician he had ever met, and was grateful for the efforts Phlox went to in order to find a cure.

Trip had taken it all in his stride, never once complaining about the long hours he had to spent in some confined space or other while the doctor observed the effects of his latest concoction. Of course, Trip didn't say much at all these days, as opposed to the old Trip Tucker, who could happily talk the ears off of a donkey if he had a mind to do it. Most of the time, he kept up a well enough facade, eating, smiling at all the appropriate times in a conversation and showing interest in the books and movies Malcolm brought him. Some of it might have been genuine - or at least that was what Malcolm hoped, not wanting to believe that it was all a well-acted pretense. Still, he couldn't simply ignore the nightmares that woke Trip almost every night, or the fact that Trip was eating, but was doing so with the air of someone taking care of a mandatory chore. Malcolm had tried to talk to him, after he had woken for the second time in as many nights to find Trip hyperventilating in his sleep, but with little success. Trip had merely smiled at him, the smile almost turning into something else before he had cleared his throat and gently scolded Malcolm for not going back to his own quarters to catch some real sleep.

Malcolm sighed as he remembered their fruitless conversation that night. For Trip, it was either falling apart completely or burying it all six feet deep and rolling a large boulder on top of it, and nothing in between. And since falling apart hadn't worked, he was now veering to the other extreme, trying to convince everyone that he had "gotten over it". Malcolm knew better, of course, but there were times when he was tempted to play along, pretending that everything was just fine, that Phlox was going to find a cure and everyone would live happily ever after.

_If we try hard enough, we might even reach a point where we actually believe that none of it ever happened_, Malcolm thought with a dull self-contempt he was trying not to acknowledge. _That is, if there weren't the seizures to remind us._

So far, there had been two of them, both leaving Trip shaking and exhausted and Malcolm wishing that he would never have to witness anything like this again. One time, Trip had bitten his tongue, hard enough so that blood and saliva had run down the sides of his mouth, reminding Malcolm of those awful minutes in the Jefferies tube when he had thought that Trip would die. The Captain had been there at the time, and as soon as Phlox and Cutler had arrived with their hyposprays poised and ready, he had taken Malcolm's arm and had pulled him away from the bed, all but forcing him down on a chair. Only then had Malcolm noticed that he had been biting his own lip hard enough to make it bleed. Mercifully, Archer had made no comment, had simply handed Malcolm a box of Kleenex and watched in silence as he wiped off the blood. Malcolm had no doubt that the Captain knew exactly just how messed up he and Trip really were, and he appreciated Archer's tactful silence. Seeing that Malcolm could hardly keep his eyes open, the Captain had ordered his Armory Officer to get some sleep while he stayed with Trip, refusing to take no for an answer. As he had lain on the adjoining biobed, Malcolm had listened to the soft rise and fall of their voices, catching enough of the conversation to understand that Trip was worried about him. Bloody Yank, as if _he_ were the one traumatized and suffering from body-and-mind wrecking seizures. Malcolm hadn't caught the Captain's answer, falling asleep with sheer exhaustion. The next morning, Trip had been gone, in decon for another round of tests, and Phlox had informed Malcolm that his morning shift had been cancelled on Captain's orders. Trip's fault, of course, putting silly ideas into Archer's head. The Captain, inclined to mother his officers at the best of times, had of course been more than willing to comply.

"Mal?"

Malcolm opened his eyes again, dragging his thoughts away from his broodings and back to the here and now. Trip was looking at him out of the corners of his eyes - any turn of the head being prevented by the pillows Phlox had positioned on either side of his face - and Malcolm couldn't help but notice the pleading in his voice.

"How long?"

Malcolm glanced at the chronometer on the wall next to Trip's bed. "Only a few more minutes, love."

Trip wasn't fooled. "How many?"

"Twenty-five."

Trip sighed, and Malcolm could sympathize; the last half an hour had to be the hardest. He went over to Trip's bedside and took a seat, glancing at the two innocent-looking devices that were attached to Trip's forehead. Lying completely still for twelve hours might come close to torture, especially for a person as active as Trip, but if those two had done their job right it would have been more than worthwhile.

Catching his partner's eyes, Trip smiled. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," Malcolm said, pulling the plugs out of Trip's ears and laying them aside. He took Trip's hand in his own. "Nose still itching?"

Another smile tugged at Trip's mouth. "Now that you mention it... yeah, it is."

Malcolm reached out and gently stroked the tip of Trip's nose. "Better?"

Trip had his eyes closed. "No... keep doin' that."

Malcolm suppressed a smile and began to run his index finger along the ski sloped bridge of Trip's nose, eliciting a happy sigh from his partner.

"You've got a pretty nose, anyone ever tell you that?" Malcolm said, emphasizing his point by tapping on the object of his admiration. Trip opened his eyes.

"You're not serious, are ya? Kids at school used to tease me about it."

Malcolm grinned. "Bunch of bloody ignorants. I know a pretty nose when I see it, and I say you've got one of the nicest I've ever set my eyes on."

"If ya say so." Trip closed his eyes again, the smile still not completely gone. "It's still itchin' like mad, y'know."

Smiling, Malcolm resumed his nose-stroking, warm happiness spreading in his stomach at the look of utter contentment on Trip's face. It was obvious that Trip wasn't faking this time, that he really and truly enjoyed this. And the fact that Trip actually wanted to be touched, even if it was only by getting a nose massage, was more than Malcolm had dared to hope for.

They fell silent for a while, Malcolm continuing to stroke Trip's nose and smiling for no real reason at all. He was already starting to think that his partner had fallen asleep when Trip opened his eyes again.

"The Cap'n told me about the court martial," he said quietly. Malcolm stopped stroking and stared at Trip.

"So they've decided to hold one, after all?" he asked, trying to keep his anger under control. Of all the narrow-minded decisions Starfleet Command had come up with over the years...

"Nah," Trip said in an even softer tone, his eyes leaving Malcolm's and tracing the creases of his blanket. "Admiral Forrest thinks it should be up to me to decide."

"Oh." Malcolm was silent for a while, watching his partner. He knew better than to push Trip, and waited until the other man looked back at him again.

"I don't really see the point, y'know?" Trip sighed. "I mean, you know what happened, the Cap'n does, I certainly do, an' I don't think it's anyone else's business. And I'm not gonna satisfy some investigator's voyeurism by givin' them a detailed description."

Malcolm nodded. It was what he had expected. "So you're not pressing charges."

Trip glanced back at him. "You think I should?"

Malcolm shook his head. "No, I don't. Still..." He sighed. "Peters and the others can't stay on Enterprise."

Trip looked away. "Cap'n told me Peters has resigned," he said.

Malcolm said nothing. Peters, Kelsey and Florez were in their quarters under guard, their roommates having been assigned to different accommodations, and according to Phlox, all three men were experiencing more or less severe depressions. In the meantime, Malcolm's anger had mingled with a reluctant pity for his crewmates, but he hadn't found it in himself to go and apologize to Peters for his loss of control at the meeting. The Captain had told him that none of it would go down into his file - "extenuating circumstances", as he had called it - and the other Lieutenant was certainly not going to file a complaint. Still, Malcolm knew he should talk to Peters about it. He just couldn't bring himself to do so.

"Mal?"

His silence - or rather, brooding - had drawn Trip's attention. Malcolm shook his head, as if to chase away the thought.

"Sorry, love. I was thinking."

Part of him expected Trip to come back with their usual answer - "don't hurt yourself", which had become a rather silly private joke between them - but as he often did these days, Trip remained serious.

"Kelsey and Florez are gonna leave as well. The Cap'n said they're goin' back to Earth with the next Vulcan ship we're meetin'." He looked back at Malcolm. "He said I ought to talk to them before they leave. But..." His eyes dropped again. He hesitated, then: "You must think I'm a coward."

"Trip." Malcolm rested the tip of his finger under Trip's chin, waiting until the other man looked up. "I don't think that you're a coward, and I never did. You're stubborn and you're pigheaded - no need to give me that look - and you're a bloody idiot for injecting yourself with plasma coolant instead of talking to me, but one thing you are not, and that is a coward." Trip had flinched a little at the mention of the plasma coolant, but Malcolm had long since decided that he wouldn't tiptoe around the subject. He sighed. "Frankly, I don't see why the Captain thinks that you need to speak with Peters and the others before they leave. I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I believe there are some things that cannot be solved by discussing them in a "good long talk". If you feel that talking to them won't do any good, then don't. You have every right to say no."

Trip's eyes stayed on him for a while. "Guess you're right," he said then, slowly.

"Of course I am." Malcolm smiled. "Now why don't you lie back and I'll take care of that itching nose of yours."

This time, Trip answered his smile. "If anyone hears you talkin' like that, they're gonna think that you're up to no good."

Malcolm had no time to burst out laughing; the door opened before he could think of an appropriate comeback, and he hastily pulled his hand back from Trip's face. No need to provide Phlox with a demonstration of what he would probably interpret (and note down) as a peculiar human mating ritual.

"Gentlemen." The doctor smiled, stepping up next to Trip's bed and glancing at the monitor. "Well done, Commander, it seems that you hardly moved at all."

Trip grinned. "Yeah, well, Malcolm's done a wonderful job of keepin' me entertained."

"I see." The doctor's smile grew wider, and Malcolm felt his cheeks grow warm. Obviously, Phlox had his own ideas how to keep your partner (or, in his case, partners) entertained if they were confined to bed and unable to move. Struggling to erase _that_ particular mental image from his mind, Malcolm decided to change the subject.

"When will you know if the treatment was successful?" he asked, watching as the doctor carefully removed the devices from Trip's forehead. Once they were gone, Trip stretched his arms above his head and began to massage the nape of his neck, sighing as he did so.

"That feels better."

Phlox activated a small switch on top of each device, carefully studying the bio screen. Malcolm waited, and finally, the doctor turned back to them, slowly, as if he were reluctant to do so.

"Bad news, huh?" asked Trip, who seemed to have noticed as well.

Phlox laid the radiation devices aside. "I'm afraid so, Commander."

"No effect?" Malcolm asked quietly, although he already knew the answer by looking at Phlox' face.

"I'm afraid not, Lieutenant." The doctor looked back at Trip. "It seems that the poison is resilient enough to withstand even such a strong dose. I'm sorry, Commander."

Trip shook his head. "Not your fault, doc."

"What about a stronger dose?" Malcolm asked. It had seemed such a good idea, destroying the poison through radiation, and he wasn't willing to accept that it wouldn't work at all.

Phlox shook his head. "I'm afraid this isn't the time to "bring up the big guns", Lieutenant. A stronger dose would likely do more damage to the Commander's brain than the poison itself."

Malcolm leaned back in his chair, letting out a small sigh. They'd tried so many things during the last four days, and he could see that Trip was growing tired. They both were. And it was growing increasingly harder to silence the small voice at the back of his mind suggesting that maybe, there was no cure. No ingenious way out this time. Deal with it.

"Doc?"

Malcolm glanced back at Trip and saw that he had propped himself up on his elbows.

"Yes, Commander?"

"Is it okay if I get up? Gotta take care of somethin'."

"Oh." Phlox seemed to have expected something else. "Of course."

Slowly, Trip pushed himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He seemed a little disoriented at first, which was not surprising after twelve hours of strict bed rest, blinking a few times as if to get rid of a dizzy spell. Eventually he slid off the bunk, but to Malcolm's surprise he did not walk over to the IC unit's small bathroom.

"Trip?" Malcolm got up. "Are you all right? Don't you need to..."

He was silenced by a pair of arms sliding around his waist, and a warm body pulling him close. "I don't need to go anywhere," Trip whispered next to his ear. "But I need to do this."

Malcolm closed his eyes as his partner's lips found his own, leaning into the kiss. It was the first time since the assault that Trip had initiated any physical contact between them; not something Malcolm had expected to happen so soon. Not that he was complaining; Trip's approach seemed genuine enough, and Malcolm was certainly not going to stop him.

Eventually, they broke apart, both of them rather short of breath. Trip leaned forward again, talking softly that only Malcolm could hear him.

"I'm worried about ya, Mal. You're so wound up. You need to relax, get some real sleep. Y'can't keep goin' like this."

"Trip." Malcolm sighed, allowing himself to relax in the embrace. He sensed that this time, it was Trip holding him instead of the other way around, which was fine. No way he would admit it to anyone, but he needed this; had needed it for a long time. "It's just that... I was really hoping it would work this time."

C_ounting on it, actually._

"I know." A careful hand found its way into Malcolm's hair, moving up and down in gentle strokes. "But it's gonna be fine, okay? Don't worry."

Malcolm smiled a little, resting his head on Trip's shoulder.

_Now let's just hope that for once, you're right, Mr. Tucker._

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	13. Chapter 13

**Title**: Killing Thing

**Author**: Sita Z

**Genre**: Angst/Drama

**Rating**: PG 13

**AN: **Thanks for reviewing Chapter 12!

---------------

Chapter 13

Malcolm leaned back in his chair at the conference table, sighing inwardly. He was seeing decidedly too much of this place these days, and none of the briefings he had been obliged to attend during the last two weeks had resulted in anything positive. And that was putting it mildly, considering that last time, he had interrupted the meeting by attacking Peters and breaking the man's nose. Malcolm's lips tightened as he remembered. It wasn't right that he should not receive so much as an official reprimand for what he had done, "extenuating circumstances" notwithstanding. An Armory officer couldn't afford to lose his temper, no matter what the circumstances.

He glanced at his partner sitting next to him. Trip had noticeably lost weight, his thin frame accentuated by the loose-fitting pants and t-shirt he was wearing. His left wrist was circled by the sensor bracelet that transferred his bio data to a monitor in sickbay, so Phlox would notice immediately if any changes occurred. Trip hated the device, but the doctor had left him no choice, insisting that Trip promised not to take it off before he officially discharged him.

"You won't be able to call for help when a seizure occurs," Phlox had explained, fastening the bracelet on his patient's wrist and ignoring Trip's scowl. "I need to know in advance so I can come to your quarters in time. If you find the sensor unacceptable, you are welcome to stay here in sickbay as a permanent accommodation." His blue eyes had twinkled mischievously. "I certainly don't mind the company, and your expertise would come in handy if there's a malfunction with any of the medical equipment."

Trip's horrified expression had elicited a grin from Malcolm, who had come to walk his partner back to his quarters. "I believe Trip's going to take his chances with the remote," he had said, earning a glare from the engineer. Trip's annoyance had quickly dissipated, however, once he was back in his own four walls. As Trip had announced, sitting down happily at his desk, it was good to be home, even if he was going to be confined to his quarters for most of the day and controlled by a remote sensor.

Trip, noticing Malcolm's eyes on him, turned his head and smiled. The expression seemed a little forced, as if he were struggling - and not quite succeeding - to cover up his nervousness. Malcolm couldn't blame him; after all, this meeting had been called because the Captain wanted to discuss how Starfleet was planning to "proceed"... meaning, if they had decided to let Trip stay on Enterprise or not. Not that there would be much discussing involved - if Command decided to withdraw one of their officers, even the Captain's hands were tied. And Malcolm had a feeling that they were going to do exactly that. Well, he had decided a long time ago that Trip wouldn't be going back to Earth on his own. If Command decided that their Chief Engineer was no longer fit for deep space duty... well, there were a lot of fine men and women who would be more than happy to accept the post of Enterprise's Armory officer.

Malcolm smiled back at Trip, and was glad to see his partner relax somewhat. No doubt they would have a screaming fight once Malcolm announced that he was resigning, and he was determined to enjoy peace as long as it lasted. Even more so since he intended to have the final say in this, which he knew would involve a sulking Trip and more than one heated late-night discussion. Well, so be it. Malcolm had found out long ago that he could easily out-stubborn the engineer, if need be.

"You're early, gentlemen."

Malcolm raised his head and saw that Archer had arrived, the doctor and T'Pol following in his wake. He tried to glean from Archer's expression if the Captain had good or bad news to divulge, but there was no way to tell.

"Good evening, sir," he replied politely, his formal greeting echoed by Trip's "Evenin', Cap'n". Malcolm noticed that they both sounded fairly normal, which was good. No need for the Captain to know that two of his senior officers had been too nervous to have dinner.

Archer took a seat, waiting until T'Pol and Phlox were sitting as well before he spoke up.

"As you all know, I had a call from Admiral Forrest this afternoon..."

Trip sat up a little straighter.

"...well, the good news first, you're going to stay on Enterprise, Trip."

Malcolm wondered if his own grin looked as silly as Trip's. Although his partner claimed to be the eternal optimist, Malcolm knew that Trip had not really expected to be allowed to stay, not when he needed medical observation basically 24/7.

Archer was smiling as well, and Dr. Phlox gave Trip the thumbs-up, a gesture that Liz had taught him a few days ago and which he now used in every given situation. T'Pol seemed unaffected by the news, although her left eyebrow did twitch a little once Archer was finished. Trip smiled back at Phlox, then, well aware that no one except Malcolm would notice, reached for Malcolm's hand under the table and squeezed it briefly before letting go again.

"That's great news, Cap'n."

"That it is," Archer replied with a warm smile. "The Admiral told me Starfleet couldn't afford to call back their best engineer, not if there's a way you can still stay on Enterprise. However..." His smile faded as he continued. "It seems that some of the Command staff aren't willing to..." He hesitated. "I'm afraid there's no tactful way to put this, Trip. They don't feel they can allow a permanently disabled person to hold the post of Chief Engineer. Forrest filed an official complaint about their decision, as did I, but he's afraid that there's not much we can do. I'm sorry, Trip."

This time it was Malcolm reaching out for Trip's hand. Trip was trying hard not to give away just how hurt he was, but a slight trembling under Malcolm's fingers betrayed him.

"Well," he said heavily, "I guess it's fair enough, isn't it."

"It's not," Malcolm interrupted before Archer could say anything. "Trip's still best qualified for the job. His mental abilities weren't damaged by the poison. There's no reason why he shouldn't keep his position."

"Incorrect, Lieutenant," T'Pol replied calmly. "The responsibilities of a Chief Engineer include command situations, and the risk of Commander Tucker suffering a seizure in a critical moment is too great to be ignored."

Malcolm had never come so close to strangling the Science Officer. "There's always a risk of a commanding officer being injured or otherwise incapacitated," he replied, trying to sound as cool as the Vulcan. "That's no reason not to pick the best person for the job."

"Malcolm," Archer said quietly. "No one's happy about Command's decision, but it's not as if they're busting Trip back to crewman." He looked at Trip. "Forrest asks you to stay aboard as a Technical Counselor. You'll keep your rank and authority, and of course you're still going to be included in meetings and such." He sighed. "Believe me, Trip, I don't like the idea of anyone but you in charge of Engineering. Right now, however, as distasteful as it is, I think we'll have to go along with Starfleet's solution."

Trip nodded slowly. "I guess so." After a short pause he added, "They say anythin' 'bout who they're gonna promote?"

Archer nodded. "Lieutenant Hess. She'll be Chief on probation for three months and if her efficiency ratings are sufficient, they'll appoint her for good."

Trip smiled, although a little sadly. "Good pick. That girl's an engineerin' genius if I ever met one."

_She's not as good as you_, Malcolm thought, biting his lip to keep the comment from slipping out. His partner staying on Enterprise was more than he had dared to hope for, and still, it seemed unfair to take Engineering away from Trip. Trip had once called the warp engine "the other great love of my life" - as Malcolm suspected, only half-jokingly - and it was a fact that he was by far the best engineer of the fleet. Hess was good, no doubt about it, but she wouldn't have gotten them out of half the scrapes Trip's intuition had helped them wriggle out of, often at the very last minute.

"How about away missions?" Trip asked, returning Malcolm's attention to the briefing. "Can I still go?"

Archer seemed to be feeling uncomfortable. "Basically, yes, you can."

"What do you mean, "basically?" Trip wanted to know.

Archer sighed. "It depends, Trip. Command doesn't want you on any mission where your... health problem could turn out to be a risk." He glanced at Phlox. "It's going to depend on your judgement if Trip can join an away team or not."

"I see." Phlox didn't look very happy at the prospect. "Still, I refuse to make any decision without consulting the Commander as well." He looked at Trip. "We'll decide together if you're feeling up to an away mission or not. I can't go against my medical judgement, of course, but I'll take your opinion into consideration. You're an adult patient, after all."

Trip smiled at him. "Thanks doc. I appreciate that."

Malcolm also smiled at the doctor, grateful that Phlox was taking Trip's side in this. Of course, the final verdict still lay with Phlox, but the whole business would be a lot less humiliating if the doctor officially included Trip in his decision.

"Well," Archer began, "I guess for now, there's not much left to add..."

"Did Admiral Forrest say how they are planning to proceed should Commander Tucker return to full health?"

Malcolm turned his head in surprise. He would not have expected this question of T'Pol, of all people. Archer raised his eyebrows.

"Subcommander?"

T'Pol seemed to find nothing unusual about her inquiry. "It is only logical to consider all possibilities."

Archer gave her a long look. "If the doc gives Trip a clean bill of health, there's no reason why he shouldn't return to his former post."

T'Pol inclined her head. "Thank you, Captain."

Malcolm caught Trip's surprised look and shrugged in response. He had no idea what kind of logical twist had prompted T'Pol to ask this question.

Archer closed the meeting, and Malcolm followed his partner to the door. While they were heading for Trip's quarters, he glanced at Trip from time to time, but said nothing, accepting that the engineer didn't seem to be in the mood to talk.

Eventually, they arrived at Trip's door. Instead of following his partner inside, however, Malcolm remained next to the door.

"If you'd rather be alone..."

Trip shook his head. "There's no fun in gettin' plastered on your own, is there?"

Before Malcolm could react, Trip had closed the door behind them with his locking code. He walked over to a cabinet next to his desk and took a bottle out of it.

"I guess we've earned ourselves a nightcap." He shook the bottle so that the amber liquid inside was sloshed around. "My very last one, after I broke the other bottle."

Instead of lecturing Trip on the possible effects bourbon could have if combined with the doctor's medication, Malcolm accepted the glass Trip handed him and sat down on the bed.

"Thanks."

His own glass in hand, Trip followed suit and leaned against Malcolm's shoulder. The warmth that began to spread in Malcolm's stomach had nothing to do with bourbon, and he carefully slipped an arm around Trip's shoulders, happiness washing through him when Trip didn't tense or pull away.

They sat in silence for a while, sipping their bourbon. With Trip's warm body close to his, Malcolm found it hard to hold on to the anger that had built up within him during the briefing. So Starfleet was run by a bunch of desk pilots, what else was new? At least they didn't have to go back to Earth, and, even more important, they could be together. He had come so close to losing Trip, and simply sitting here enjoying each other's company was more than enough, if you thought about it.

"Mal?"

Malcolm moved his head a little so he could look at Trip. "Yeah?"

Trip stared into his glass. "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

Trip sighed. "Me bein' such an idiot. You, the Cap'n, Phlox... you're all bein' so nice about it, when it's really only my fault that I've lost my job." He began to move the glass so that the bourbon was swirled around inside. "Y'know, I keep thinkin'... if it'd been you, or the Cap'n, for that matter... you wouldn't have freaked out like that. You... you woulda pulled yourself together, instead of... of givin' up like a goddamn coward. You... you would've fought them off anyway, I guess."

The last few words came as a whisper, as if Trip wasn't sure whether he actually wanted Malcolm to hear them. Malcolm tightened his arm around Trip's shoulder, pulling him closer.

"I'm not superman, Trip. Granted, I'm a trained fighter, but that doesn't mean I can hold off three madmen whose minds are set on hurting or even killing me. They would have done the same thing to me."

"But you wouldn't've..."

"Trip," Malcolm interrupted. "I don't know what I would have done. I know I would have been angry, hurt and desperate, just like you were. And maybe it would have become too much and I would have tried a stunt like you did with the plasma coolant, who knows? Maybe you would have done a better job of being there for me when I needed you, and there would have been no need for me to try and kill myself."

Trip moved under his arm, turning his head so he could look at him. "Mal, you don't honestly think you're to blame for any of this, do you?"

Malcolm sighed. "I don't know, Trip. I wasn't there, was I, the day you..."

"Malcolm!" Trip turned around so that they were sitting face to face. "That mighta been because I was bein' a complete bastard. I told you to go away and not come back. But you didn't give up on me. You came after me when I'd crawled into the Jefferies tube to die and dragged me back to life." A sad smile played across his lips. "Seems to me I keep screwin' up and you keep savin' the day. So don't you go tellin' me it was your fault, 'cause it wasn't."

Malcolm took both their glasses and set them down on Trip's nightstand, then slipped his arms around his partner. A whiff of bourbon mingled with the scent Malcolm associated with coming back from a graveyard shift and finding Trip more or less asleep on his bunk, mumbling indistinct words when Malcolm slipped into bed next to him. A flicker of amusement passed through his mind; who would guess that Lieutenant Malcolm Reed's favorite smell included slightly unaired bedding, Starfleet issue shower gel and a touch of sweaty socks (why Trip insisted on wearing those in bed he had never been able to fathom).

The closeness of the moment made him whisper his next words.

"You didn't screw up, Trip... you simply made a mistake."

Trip chuckled softly next to Malcolm's ear. "There's a difference?"

"There is." Trip's hair tickled his cheek, and Malcolm turned his head to kiss the soft skin in the hollow between Trip's neck and shoulder. "Actually, there's a big difference."

Trip sighed, obviously enjoying himself. "Gonna trade semantics with me, are ya, Lieutenant?"

"No." Malcolm placed another kiss on Trip's neck, then looked up again. "I don't need to. Screwing up is for twits and idiots, and that-" he emphasized his point with a gentle kiss to Trip's lips - "- you are not. But it's a fact that absolutely everybody makes mistakes."

Trip said nothing in response, but there was a slight smile on his lips telling Malcolm that he wasn't going to argue. The tenderness of the moment would have led to more, but Malcolm resisted the urge to slip his hands under Trip's shirt to touch the skin beneath. It was Trip's decision when and how they were going to be intimate again, and up to him to make the first move. Malcolm had sworn to himself that he wouldn't push his partner. It was going to take time to rebuild what they'd had, time he was willing to take.

Trip seemed to have read his mind, slipping closer and leaning his head against Malcolm's shoulder.

"Sorry, Mal. I know it's stupid..."

Malcolm silenced him with a kiss. "Don't. It's all right." He caught Trip's doubting look and smiled. "Really. Don't feel you have to do anything you're not absolutely comfortable with." He was suddenly reminded of their first few months together, when they'd both been new to the whole guy on guy thing, both nervous as hell and at the same time amused by their own awkwardness. He smiled. "We'll just take it really slow, like we did before, okay?"

Trip answered his smile. "Kay."

Malcolm retrieved their glasses from the nightstand and leaned back, enjoying the feeling of having Trip so close by him.

_More than enough, indeed._

The combined warmth and aftertaste of bourbon on his tongue was beginning to make him drowsy, all coherent thoughts pleasantly melting away as his eyes began to droop. Malcolm barely noticed when Trip got up and walked over to the wardrobe, returning a moment later with his well-worn favorite quilt. The soft blanket was spread over both of them, then Trip slipped back into bed next to him, still in his clothes minus the shoes. Part of Malcolm's mind groused that they were both going to go to sleep unwashed and fully dressed if he didn't drag himself to the bathroom right now, but for once, he decided to ignore the irksome voice. There was no bloody way he was getting out of this bed again; not for the next seven hours, anyway.

The sound of the doorchime came as a shock to both of them, startling Malcolm so that he almost toppled over the edge of the bunk. A thud and a muffled swear told him that Trip had been rather rudely startled out of his own doze, hitting his head on the bulkhead as a result.

"Are you expecting anyone?" Malcolm asked. Reluctantly, he dragged himself back to a sitting position. "The Captain?"

Trip shook his head and began to climb out of bed, running a hand through his hair so that it stuck up in all directions. "Naw, Jon said he was gonna turn in early tonight. Guess it's Phlox. No need to get up, the doc won't mind."

Malcolm briefly debated whether or not he should let the doctor see him half-in and half-out of Trip's bed, his hair and uniform rumpled and disheveled, then decided that it didn't matter. After all, Phlox had seen him in far more undignified situations.

Sleepily, he watched Trip cross the cabin on socked feet and press the door button. The bulkhead slid aside, Malcolm doing a double-take when he realized who their visitor was. Standing in the corridor was T'Pol, of all people, looking as spit-and-polish as she always did, her hands folded behind her back.

"Oh," Trip said. "I... I thought it was... evenin', Subcommander."

Malcolm briefly considered if there was any inconspicuous way to get from the bed to the desk chair without T'Pol noticing, his tactical mind coming up with zero suggestions. It would have been too late in any case, since she had already glanced past Trip and spotted him on the bunk.

"Good evening, Commander. Lieutenant," she replied with perfect composure. "I apologize if I am disturbing you."

Malcolm felt his cheeks grow warm.

"Not at all," Trip said hastily. "D'you... do you wanna come in?"

"Thank you." She walked past him, while Trip used the unobserved moment to kick his and Malcolm's boots under the bed.

"Please, take a seat." He gestured at the desk chair.

She complied, lowering herself into the offered chair with her usual grace. Malcolm, trying to maintain a modicum of decorum, began to discreetly straighten the sheets he was sitting on.

"So, uh..." Trip sounded a little lost. "There somethin' I can do for you, Subcommander?"

"There is," she replied, glancing at Malcolm. "It is fortunate that you are here as well, Lieutenant. What I have to say concerns both of you."

Malcolm didn't know what to say in response, and eventually settled for a careful nod. T'Pol sounded even more grave than usual, if that was at all possible, and he wondered if she was here to reprimand them. Maybe as the ship's first officer, she considered it her duty to reinforce the anti-fraternization rules. He and Trip weren't the only couple aboard Enterprise, and so far, nobody had found it necessary to quote regulations, but things might be different where senior officers were concerned.

"Ya like a cup of tea first?" Trip seemed to have recovered enough to take on the role of the host. "I'm afraid I've only got teabags, though."

"That will be fine. Thank you, Commander."

Malcolm watched Trip fuss with his kettle, surprised that T'Pol hadn't declined the offer. So maybe she wasn't here to deliver a reprimand, after all, although he still had a hard time imagining T'Pol coming over just to have a drink and share the latest gossip. The idea almost made him smile before he caught himself.

"Like one too, Mal?" Trip asked over his shoulder and Malcolm nodded.

"Sure, why not."

Soon enough, Trip came back over carrying three steaming mugs, one of which he handed to the Subcommander (Malcolm smothered a smile when he saw that Trip had picked his only plain white mug for T'Pol, keeping the Snoopy print and the sunflowers for Malcolm and himself). T'Pol accepted the cup as if her having a nightcap with the Chief Engineer and the Armory Officer were nothing unusual.

"Thank you, Commander."

Cradling his own cup with both hands, Trip sat down on the bed next to Malcolm. "So... you said there was somethin' you wanted to talk about?"

T'Pol inclined her head. "Indeed. I do not think it was necessary for Starfleet Command to remove you from your post."

Trip seemed surprised. "But... at the conference you said it was the logical thing to do."

She regarded him calmly. "No, I did not. I merely contradicted the Lieutenant's assessment that there was no reason to withdraw you from your position."

Trip frowned. "I'm not sure I can follow you there, T'Pol. So Command has reason to fire me, but it's still not logical for them to do so?"

"Correct. Your illness is reason enough for Command to consider seeking a replacement, but there is no logic in doing so when there is a chance you can return to full health. To quote Lieutenant Reed, you are, after all, the best person for the job."

Trip sighed. "It's nice of you to say so, Subcommander, but I'm afraid the doctor's done all he could. I won't be returnin' to full health for a long time, probably not ever. Starfleet knows that."

"Their information is insufficient."

Malcolm stared at her over the rim of his cup. She couldn't be implying what he thought she was... could she?

"What do you mean?" Trip wanted to know.

"There is a way to heal an illness like yours," she replied. Malcolm wasn't sure whether he had imagined the small hesitation in her voice before she continued. "I do not believe that Dr. Phlox has heard about it; in fact, very few people have."

Trip sat up straight, his tea forgotten. "Some Vulcan healin' technique? Is that why no one knows about it?"

"Not a Vulcan technique, no." This time, she did hesitate, lowering her eyes for a second before she went on. "It is true, however, that we do not share our knowledge of the _khansara _with many others. There... are Vulcans who disapprove of the procedure."

"Not a Vulcan technique, you say." Trip frowned. "But there are people on Vulcan who know how to perform it?"

"No. The _khansara_ involves powers of the mind that no Vulcan possesses. But we know where to go if someone wants to undergo it."

"So where do you go?" Malcolm tried not to sound impatient; he sensed that T'Pol found it difficult to talk about the _khansara_, whatever it was, and was trying to hide her discomfort behind a very formal way of speaking.

"There is a planet on the outer fringes of the Eridani system, Kira Mayiar. The Mayiari have been known to the Vulcans for four hundred years, ever since Vulcan developed space travel. Since it is so close to our home world, Kira Mayiar was one of the first planets our ancestors visited on their expeditions."

"They're not on the Vulcan star charts," Trip said. "The T'Sia Colony is the next inhabited planet nearest to Vulcan."

"That is because the Mayiari do not wish to appear on the charts."

Malcolm frowned. "Why?"

T'Pol's eyes came to rest on him. "The Mayiari lead a very secluded existence. Their view of life is different to that of most species. They do not wish to explore their world or what lies beyond it, or expand their territory. Accordingly, they do not embrace technology as most known species do."

"So they're not on the charts to keep unwanted visitors away?" Malcolm asked.

"No. In fact, the Mayiari welcome visitors from other worlds. They are afraid, however, that if their existence became common knowledge, there would be those who would want to... exploit their gift."

"Their gift?"

T'Pol inclined her head. "Indeed. The Mayiari are powerful telepaths, like the Vulcans. However, their telepathic powers are not limited to communicating with others. They can also... change their surroundings, if they wish to do so."

"Change their surroundings?" Trip repeated. "You mean, telekinesis?"

"Not quite. The Mayiari do not simply move objects around; they can change the nature of matter."

Her words were followed by a brief silence. Finally Trip said: "I can see why they don't want anyone to know."

"The Vulcans have kept their whereabouts a secret," T'Pol continued. "There have been very few non-Vulcan visitors to Kira Mayiar, and all of them were deemed completely trustworthy by the Vulcans. We would not have shared our knowledge otherwise."

"You're sharin' it with us," Trip said softly.

"Yes," T'Pol said simply.

Another moment of silence followed. Malcolm, knowing that any "emotional displays" at her mark of confidence would only embarrass the Subcommander, eventually returned to the subject at hand.

"So... I take it the _khansara_ has something to do with these mind powers?"

"Indeed." Malcolm had never seen the Subcommander anything but self-confident, sure of herself and the omnipresence of her logic. Now, however, she seemed almost vulnerable, like someone revealing their innermost secrets. "I do not know if you are aware of Vulcan's... cultural taboo where brain impairment is concerned."

They shook their heads, waiting for her to continue.

"For a Vulcan, brain injury is a fate worse than death. Losing the power to control your emotions, your... instincts..." She glanced away as if to gather her thoughts. "For most species, brain impairment means that they are limited in their physical and sometimes mental abilities. Vulcans, however, will lose their mastery of the _cthia_, the Logic, and their...basic instincts will run amok. Often, they become violent, a danger to everyone around them."

"And the _khansara_ can help them?" Trip asked quietly.

"Yes. The Mayiari have the power to heal such an injury. Our two worlds have lived in peaceful coexistence since the first contact was made, and the Mayiari know that we won't betray their trust. They agreed to help our sick, as long as we do not try to take more than they are willing to give us."

Malcolm and Trip exchanged a look. "Do you... do you think they'd be willin' to help me?" the engineer asked finally.

"I do not know, Commander," T'Pol answered calmly. "There is no way to find out but to go there and ask them. It is what Vulcans have been doing for hundreds of years."

Malcolm considered. "You said this _khansara_ would concern both of us. How so?"

She looked at him. "The _khansara_ is a very straining procedure, physically and emotionally. The Mayiari will only help someone who is supported by a strong mental bond; with adult Vulcans, their bondmate will accompany them, and with children, one of their parents. The _khansara_ cannot be performed otherwise."

Malcolm bit his lip, his own disappointment reflected on Trip's face. "Humans don't have mental bonds, Subcommander," he said quietly. "There might be a few of us who have some sort of... extrasensory perception, but even they can't use their powers to communicate or anything."

T'Pol tilted her head. "I am aware of that, Lieutenant. It does not matter. The Mayiari can join two people in a mental connection, even if the persons in question are non-telepathic. It has been done before."

"With humans?" Trip wanted to know.

T'Pol raised her eyebrow. "Not to my knowledge, no."

Trip exchanged a look with Malcolm, his doubts so clearly written on his face that Malcolm didn't need a bond of any sorts to read his partner's thoughts. Trip had never been comfortable with the idea of telepathic communication, suffering nightmares for weeks after he, Archer and several other crewpeople had been forced into a mental union with the stowaway being in the cargo bay. Malcolm knew he would never forget their visit to the being's planet when they had returned the "part" so it could join the "whole" again. The thin air had buzzed with a strange, vibrating force, and Malcolm hadn't needed to consult their communications expert to know that it was the being's joy they were sensing, its joy at being whole again. And although the sensation had not actually caused him any discomfort, it had been an unsettling experience. More than once, Malcolm had secretly thanked his lucky star that the being had not managed to catch him in the cargo bay, guilty as he felt about being the only one who had escaped. No, he couldn't honestly say that he felt any more confident than Trip when it came to telepathic "connections".

_Not really the best foundations for a bond that includes the both of us_, he thought with a dry inward chuckle. _We'd probably scare each other right out of our minds._

"If you do not wish to undergo the _khansara_, I understand," T'Pol said. "There are many Vulcans who would never submit themselves to the Mayiari's powers, even if their injuries were too severe to be treated in the usual way. However, I thought it logical to present you with the possibility, even if you decide against it."

"Mal?"

Malcolm turned his head. Trip was looking at him with a strange expression on his face, as if he were unsure how to express his thoughts.

"I... I don't really know how to say this..."

"You'd like to try it," Malcolm interrupted quietly.

Trip chewed on his lower lip. "I can't really ask you to do this... I mean, it's me who needs their help, not you. An' I know you're not comfortable with the whole telepathy thing..."

Malcolm was aware of T'Pol's eyes on them as he answered. "Nor are you."

They held each other's eyes for a few seconds, and Malcolm was silently amused how well he could "read" Trip's mind even without any telepathy involved.

_I don't even want to know how it's going to be if we go ahead with this_.

Finally, he reached out for Trip's hand and squeezed it gently, turning back to T'Pol as he did so.

"I think we're going to give it a try," Malcolm said.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	14. Chapter 14

****

Title

: Killing Thing****

Author

: Sita Z****

Genre

: Angst/Drama****

Rating

: PG 13****

AN:

As always, the feedback is much appreciated ;)!

Chapter 14

The ceiling was gray; nothing had changed about that. No amount of staring could change anything about the fact that this was simply a stupid, gray metal ceiling, a nondescript bulkhead that seemed far too low at times. And, what was even worse, that held no answers at all.

John had no idea how many days he had spent lying on a bed, staring first at the ceiling of the IC unit (white, with isolated ducts running along one side of the room) and then at the ceiling in his quarters (gray, interrupted only by a small grate in the corner that led to the ventilation system). Yeah, he could easily say that there was nothing about starship ceilings that he didn't know. In the meantime he had become a damn expert.

His contemplations of the gray Starfleet design were interrupted only by Phlox, but usually John let out a sigh of relief when the doctor left again. There were only so many questions you could answer with a mere nod or shake of the head, and Phlox was beginning to avoid those. Instead, he wanted John to talk, talk and then talk some more, to provide data for the diagnosis.

__

How do you feel, Lieutenant? Is there anything you'd like to tell me? Are you having nightmares? Feelings of anxiety? Anger? Anything you'd like to mention?

The stupid thing was that John had, in fact, nothing to say. Oh, there had been nightmares and feelings of anxiety and anger (emphasis on the latter, a helpless anger at himself and the world in general), but nothing he wanted to share. He had no idea if the doctor, like everyone else, felt nothing but contempt for him and put on his professional mask simply because it was his job, or if he really wanted to help. It didn't matter, either. He wasn't going to be anyone's study object, one way or the other.

That left only the ceiling. He stared at it, not moving, for hours at a time, trying not to think, something that became easier after the doctor had started to put him on anti-depressants. John had told him, of course, that he wasn't depressive (his first full sentence in two visits, but it couldn't be avoided), but Phlox had decided not to listen, and in the meantime, John had kind of grown used to the way the medication seemed to spread a thin blanket over his mind, allowing him a brief respite he could use to get some sleep.

Before the anti-depressants, sleep had been something John had tried to avoid at all costs, even if it meant biting his own thumb so hard that the pain kept him from dozing off. With mere pain he could deal; with the nightmares, not. The dreams always started the same; Tucker on the floor, arms covering his head to protect himself from the kicks and blows. Then Martin and himself, hauling the dazed man to his feet. Manhandling him to the bed, shouting obscenities and laughing at Tucker's futile attempts to free himself, the details of what followed vivid enough to make John sick to the stomach every time he woke up. More than once, he hadn't managed to reach the bathroom in time.

The worst thing, however, was that in the dreams, he felt good. When he woke up, all he wanted to do was vomit at the memory of what they had done, but as long as the nightmares lasted, in a twisted sort of way, he enjoyed it. The anger, the feeling of absolute power over another human being... it all came back, reminding him exactly why they had lost control, why even Tucker's screams and the blood hadn't stopped them. Correction- hadn't stopped _him_. John was pretty sure that Martin and Ramon wouldn't have continued the assault, had he tried to prevent it.

After one of the nightmares, as he had lain in the darkness with tears of shame in his eyes, it had come to him that this was probably what he deserved. His own personal purgatory. Or hell; it all depended on your point of view. If he was reliving the whole thing again and again, then Tucker certainly was, too, and John could only imagine what the man must be going through. Maybe it was only fair, him having those dreams. If he were in Tucker's position, he would certainly want his tormentors to get a daily (or nightly) reminder of what they had done. John knew with a cold clarity that he would not have forgiven anything in Tucker's place, ever. Or in Reed's place, for that matter. Merely the idea of anyone hurting Cora in such a way sent a wave of anger through him, and he could totally understand why Reed had attacked him and broken his nose. John only wondered why the Armory Officer hadn't finished the job and killed him there and then. Then however, judging from the look in Reed's eyes, he might have if the Captain and T'Pol hadn't stopped him. John wasn't going to blame him for trying.

__

Cora

. John closed his eyes, blocking his view of the ceiling for a moment. Her face came to him, the way her dark green eyes sparkled when she laughed. She wasn't tall, hardly reached up to his shoulders, and people tended not to take her seriously at first, a tiny woman with blonde curls wearing a gray Spacedock uniform. Most of them were in for a surprise, sooner or later, just as he had been when they had started going out together. Cora might look like a little girl, but there was hardly anything childish about her character. In fact, she was the most down-to-earth person he had ever met. It was one of the many things he so loved about her, and it had made writing the letter ever so much harder. Because there was no down-to-earth explanation for what had happened. In fact, he had struggled hard to come up with any explanation at all.

John had not expected an answer to his letter, nor had he harbored the slightest doubt that the moment she received it she would consider their relationship to be over. But of course she had a right to know. Hitting the send button had even brought a sad kind of relief; if he was capable of hurting someone once, who knew if he wasn't going to do it again. Cora wasn't safe with him, and of course, no woman could love a man who had done what he had done to Tucker. It was best for both of them if they called it off.

He had tried telling himself these things for two days, silencing the small, rebellious voice at the back of his mind insisting that no matter what the circumstances, he would never do anything to hurt Cora.

Her answer had arrived, and at first, John had considered not opening it at all. He knew she wouldn't become abusive - that wasn't her way - but there were other ways to let your disgust show. He wasn't sure if he could take it, reading in black and white just how much she detested him.

Two days ago, he had opened the letter after all, to discover that it consisted only of a few short lines in her usual straightforward style, telling him that she refused to break it off "just like that". _"We need to talk when you're back"_.

He had stared at the few words for a long time, half expecting to discover that it had been a mistake, that the letter was actually meant for someone else. Finally, he had gone to bed, back to staring at the ceiling and trying not to think. Retreating to his so-called "depression" was easier - and less confusing - than wondering why the hell she would still be willing to look at, let alone talk to him.

The door bell chimed, and John opened his eyes again. Not the doctor's usual time for a visit, but then, he wasn't complaining. He was tired, and maybe Phlox's concoctions would allow him to catch a few hours of sleep. Real sleep, no nightmares.

"Come," he said. There was a small beep as the door was unlocked, and a few seconds later the doctor entered, smiling when he saw John on the bunk.

"Lieutenant."

John nodded silently in response.

"Ah, I see you haven't finished your lunch." Phlox sighed as he lifted the warming lid off the barely touched dish of pasta. "Again, as I might add. I believe we have discussed the consequences of self-inflicted malnutrition, haven't we, Lieutenant?"

John sighed. "I wasn't hungry."

"It doesn't matter if you feel you aren't hungry." The doctor came to stand in front of his bunk, arms crossed in front of his chest. "You need to eat. I'm not sure if you're aware of it, but you're bordering on anorexia, Lieutenant. I can't allow this to continue."

John nodded, hoping that if he appeared to agree, the doctor would give him the injection and leave. His head was beginning to ache with lack of sleep, and he knew that if he didn't get a dose of Phlox' happy juice soon, he would develop a full-blown migraine.

"You'll need to get up to eat your lunch, Lieutenant."

John glanced up and saw that Phlox was still watching him, now with a slightly impatient expression.

"I told you I'm not hungry, doctor."

"And I told you that it doesn't matter."

Sighing, John sat up, resigning to the fact that Phlox would not leave until he at least pretended to show some interest in his lunch.

The doctor smiled. "I'm sure you'll feel a lot better when you've finished your meal."

__

I doubt it

. With an inner sigh, John took a seat at his desk, barely refraining from turning his face away as he lifted the lid off the plate. For some reason, the mere smell of food tended to make him slightly nauseous these days. All the same, he picked up the fork and began to stir around the spaghetti without actually raising any of it to his mouth. Maybe if he appeared to be eating with gusto, he could get away with having only a few mouthfuls before the doctor left again.

"The Captain has contacted the Vulcan space port," Phlox said, taking a seat on John's bed. "There's a Vulcan freighter leaving for Earth two days after our ETA. They've agreed to take you aboard. Ensign Kelsey and Ensign Florez will be accompanying you."

"They're leaving as well?" John stared down at his plate.

"They both believe it's for the best if they don't stay on Enterprise any longer."

John nodded. It was what he had expected, although that didn't make him feel any better about their decision. "How long until we reach Vulcan?"

"The science conference Subcommander T'Pol plans to attend begins in four Vulcan days. The Captain believes that we can still make it in time."

Four days left of his time on Enterprise. John couldn't honestly say that he wasn't relieved to go. "Good."

He ate another tiny forkful of pasta, just so he had something to do with his hands. So this was it. Goodbye and good riddance, don't forget to close the door when you leave. No court-martial, not even a civilian hearing, no yellow press journalists taking the incident apart piece by ugly piece. Just a quiet flight home on a Vulcan freighter, and a lifetime of trying to "live with it". Sometimes John wondered if Starfleet had bullied Tucker into not pressing charges, just to avoid the scandal that was sure to follow. He couldn't think of any other reason why they - he - should not be made to face the consequences for what they had done.

"Cora wrote to me two days ago," he said suddenly, not quite sure where the words had come from. He raised his head and saw that Phlox was trying not to appear surprised.

"Cora?" the doctor asked. "Is she your wife?"

"My girlfriend." He stared down at the fork in his hand, then abruptly put it down on the table. "I sent her a letter."

Barely concealed delight appeared on the doctor's face, and John couldn't blame him. Phlox had been telling him for weeks to find someone "to talk to", if he felt he couldn't discuss his feelings with the doctor. John could almost see him taking a mental note on the improvement of his patient's condition.

"If you'd like to talk about it, Lieutenant..."

"She said I should apologize." The last line of the letter, the one he had read over and over again. _"Maybe you don't think so right now, but an apology can make a world of difference."_

Phlox regarded him calmly. "And do you agree?"

"I... I don't know." It was true. Apologizing to Tucker - hell, even facing the man - seemed like the hardest thing to do, and yet... ever since Cora's letter, it had become increasingly harder to pass his days lying around in a numb stupor, waiting for the next dose of wonder juice that would allow him to forget. "Maybe. But..."

He lowered his head.

"You're afraid to face Commander Tucker," the doctor stated quietly.

John nodded. "Yeah."

Phlox was silent for a while. "I understand," he said, and for once he didn't sound like a doctor talking to a patient. "If I were you, I'm not sure if I'd have the courage to do so."

* * *

"You're not serious, Mal."

"Believe me, I am. I'm serious enough to resort to drastic measures if you don't stay in bed as the doctor ordered."

"Oh? An' what kinda "measures" would tha' be, Lootenant?"

Malcolm crossed his arms, refusing to react to the exaggerated drawl Trip put on for the sole purpose of driving him crazy.

"I haven't decided - yet. Intimidation, perhaps. Or physical restraint. I'm going to sit on you if I have to, but you're going to rest, just as the doctor said you should. Understood?"

Trip regarded him for a moment, and Malcolm could see that his partner was torn between laughing and continuing to argue. Finally, however, the good-natured side of Charles Tucker III won over (or maybe the side that worried Malcolm might have been serious, after all). Abandoning his place in front of the computer terminal, Trip crossed the short distance between them and slid his arms around Malcolm's waist.

"Intimidation, huh? You think that'll work?"

Malcolm pulled him close for a kiss. "Absolutely."

Trip grinned. "Meaning I'd better come peacefully, right?"

Malcolm smiled in response. "If you know what's good for you, yes, you'd better."

He watched Trip sit down on his bunk, and his amusement vanished as he saw how Trip, bending down to take off his shoes, groped into thin air twice before he got hold of his left sneaker and pulled it off. Before they had left sickbay this morning, Phlox had warned them that there might be movement disorders, but there was a difference between knowing that it might occur and actually seeing it happen.

The seizure had been bad, worse than all of the previous attacks. In the meantime, Malcolm more or less knew what he had to do, but still, waking up at four in the morning to find Trip on the floor in front of the bed, eyes tightly shut and body arching off the deck in convulsions, had left him more rattled than he cared to admit. This time, the hastily administered hypospray had changed nothing about Trip's condition, and only when Phlox had arrived, quickly injecting Trip with a strong dose of another anticonvulsant, had the seizure lessened. Trip had spent the rest of the night in sickbay, rather dazed by the injection but still lucid enough to scold Malcolm, who refused to return to his own quarters to get some sleep. Even now, more than twelve hours after the attack, he couldn't quite forget how terrible Trip had looked, his face twisted and distorted by the convulsions. And it hurt, seeing how his illness limited Trip even in simple, everyday things.

"Mal?"

Malcolm blinked, trying to shake off his sudden dark mood. "Yes?"

"I..." Trip's voice faltered, and he glanced down at his discarded sneakers. For a moment, he looked so vulnerable that Malcolm could have kicked himself.

"Trip, I'm sorry, I... I didn't mean to stare."

Trip made a brave attempt at a smile. "Hey, that's okay. Phlox said that kinda thing was gonna happen. It's just..." His smile, which had never really been there in the first place, began to fade. "It feels strange."

Malcolm nodded, sat down and rested an arm on Trip's shoulders. "I know. But with any luck, there's something we can do about it. And soon."

He felt Trip's arm snaking around his waist as the engineer slid closer. "I can't ever thank you enough for doin' this, Mal. Even if it doesn't work..."

"You'd do the same thing for me."

Trip sighed. "Yeah, I would. 'cept that you wouldn't get yourself into such a fix in the first place."

Malcolm turned his head a little. "I was the one who barely escaped living out his life speared to a piece of hull plating like a cherry tomato, remember?"

Trip burst out laughing. "Like a what?"

"My aunt used to make these canapés when she came over for New Year's Eve... a cherry tomato and a piece of feta cheese on top of a soft cracker, all held together by a toothpick. Was the first thing that came to my mind when that spike went through my leg. After a number of expletives, of course."

Trip stared at him. "That's what you were thinkin' of? Your aunt's New Year's Eve canapés?"

Malcolm blushed and nodded. He had never intended to share that particular detail with anyone, but it was the God's honest truth.

Trip smiled. "You're weird, you know that?"

"That's why you love me," Malcolm responded automatically, and felt Trip's arm tighten around his waist.

"Yeah, I guess that's got to be it."

A companionable silence followed, and Malcolm was about to suggest they turn in for the night when the door signal chimed. Trip sighed and - rather reluctantly - extricated himself from Malcolm.

"I forgot. The doc said he wanted to check on me one more time before I go to bed. Just a sec."

T'Pol's surprise visit still vividly in mind, Malcolm left the bunk and took a seat on the desk chair instead while Trip went to open the door. There was certainly no need for every visitor to Trip's quarters to find the Armory Officer lounging around on the bed.

When the door opened, it was all Malcolm could do not to jump to his feet. Standing in the corridor was Phlox, and next to him, another man, wearing civilian clothes and looking incredibly nervous.

Trip stared at Peters for a moment before he looked back at Phlox. "Doc?" Malcolm could tell that Trip was struggling to sound calm, and forced himself to remain where he was. Whatever Peters was here for, it was up to Trip to handle it.

"Can we come in, Commander?" Phlox's voice was level, as if he were merely here on a routine visit. For a few seconds, Trip stayed where he was. Then, he stepped aside, allowing the doctor to enter. Peters hesitated, and only followed when Phlox gave him an encouraging nod. Malcolm pressed his lips together. Whatever the doctor's motives were, there was no need to bring the man here into Trip's quarters, the one place where Trip was slowly beginning to feel secure again.

Peters looked thinner and paler than the last time Malcolm had seen him, with the unhealthy pallor of someone who has lost a lot of weight in a short time. From the way he stood next to the doctor, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched, it was obvious that he would have preferred to be anywhere but here.

Finally, it was Trip who broke the silence. "What do you want?"

Peters, realizing that he had been addressed, raised his head. Malcolm saw the plain fear in the man's eyes, and for a very brief moment, he almost felt sorry for him.

"I... " Peters cleared his throat. "I've come here to apologize."

Trip stared at him, then turned away, looking out of the window instead. "Did the doc tell you to do this?"

"Not at all, Commander," Phlox answered levelly. "The Lieutenant has come here of his own accord. I'm only here since he is not allowed to leave his quarters unaccompanied."

Trip turned back around and crossed his arms in front of his chest, but not before Malcolm had caught the slight trembling of his hands. He said nothing, simply looking at Peters, and finally, the Lieutenant continued.

"I know that nothing I can say can change what I've done, but... I want you to know I've never regretted anything more in my life. I don't really know what to say..." He took a deep breath. "I'm so sorry, Commander."

Trip was still staring at him. "Are you?"

Peters nodded, lowering his eyes again as if he could not bear to look at Trip. "Yes," he said very quietly. "I am."

A short silence followed, then Trip let out a small sigh. "I'm not sure what you want to hear from me. I'll accept your apology, if that's what you want, but it won't really change anythin', y'know. It's like you said, we can't change what happened. I don't really know why you're here, Lieutenant."

Peters looked up again. "Why didn't you press charges against us?" His voice was very soft, almost a whisper. "You could've had us locked up for years."

"And a fat lot of good that would've done." Trip shook his head. "I don't care if they lock you

up or not. Frankly, I don't even care if you're sorry or not. The only thing I'd like to know..." He met the other man's eyes. "Why do you hate us so much? Me and Lieutenant Reed, I mean. It's not like we've ever done anythin' to you."

Peters closed his eyes. "I know," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"That doesn't answer my question."

The Lieutenant opened his eyes again, and Malcolm could see that they were brimming with moisture. "I don't know, Commander. It's true, I didn't..." He glanced away for a second. "I don't like what you're doing, and I guess I never will. But I never... before we went down to that planet, I never wanted to hurt anyone. You have to believe me."

Trip regarded him for a long moment. "I believe you that it wasn't on your mind to hurt anyone," he said finally. "But I guess you would've ended up doin' it anyway, in some way or other."

Peters shook his head. "That's not fair."

"No," Trip said quietly. "It's not. There's nothin' fair about the whole thing."

The Lieutenant stood there for another moment, then eventually, he nodded, as if he had come to a decision. "I... I'd better get back to my quarters."

Trip nodded, watching silently as the other man followed the doctor to the door. Before they left, Phlox turned around one more time.

"Call me if there's anything you need, Commander. I'll be in sickbay after I've returned the Lieutenant to his quarters."

"Will do, doc."

The door slid shut, and for a moment, Trip only stood there, shoulders hanging. Then he sat back down on his bunk and scrubbed a hand across his face.

"I didn't need that today."

Malcolm silently agreed, still somewhat annoyed with Phlox for picking today to do this, of all times. "You did great," he said quietly.

Trip raised his head and propped his chin on his hands. "I'm not so sure. Maybe I shoulda just..." He waved a hand, leaving it to Malcolm to interpret the gesture.

"You mean, just tell him to forget about it?" he asked.

Trip nodded. "Woulda been the decent thing to do, I guess."

Malcolm shook his head. "I think he wanted an honest answer. Not that it really matters." He shrugged, thinking of what he would have done if Peters had shown up at his door. "It was awfully decent of you to listen to him and not kick him out straight away."

Trip sighed. "I'm not all that good at kickin' people out." He smiled, somewhat tiredly. "Guess that's more your field of expertise."

"Probably." Malcolm got up, feeling the bones in his back protest as he did so. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm knackered. Do you mind if I use the bathroom first?"

Trip shook his head and waved for him to go ahead, his mind clearly on other matters. Malcolm sighed as he went into the small head, hoping that tonight they would be able to get a full night's sleep. He could only speak for himself, but he certainly needed it.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	15. Chapter 15

**Title**: Killing Thing

**Author**: Sita Z

**Genre**: Angst/Drama

**Rating**: PG 13

**AN: **Thanks for your reviews!

---------------

Chapter 15

"Remember, Commander, you must not take it off, not even for a single minute!"

Malcolm glanced back to where the voices came from. Trip was crouched in the open shuttle hatch, sorting through their camping gear and not-quite-scowling at the doctor.

"I know, doc. I'm not even gonna touch the remote. Happy now?"

"More or less." Phlox sighed. "I'm still not really comfortable with the idea of the two of you going down there on your own."

Malcolm had finished his last routine check of the navigation controls, a green light indicating that everything was in perfect working order. He shut off the maintenance program and swiveled around in the pilot seat so he faced the doctor.

"Does your unease have anything to do with our track record of away missions, doctor?" he asked, smirking when he caught Trip's eyes. "What do they call us behind our backs? The "Disaster Twins"?"

"More like the "Duo of Doom"," was Trip's grumbled reply. He opened a compartment door and began to stow away the camping equipment. "That's what Hoshi and her gang call us, anyway."

Malcolm rolled his eyes.

"Actually," Phlox commented, "although both descriptions fit you somewhat - " it was Trip's turn to roll his eyes at that - "right now I'm not so much concerned about any of the mishaps that tend to happen to you planetside. It's more the fact that there are no medical facilities where you are going. I'm not sure if we should take such risks in your present condition, Commander."

Malcolm's amusement vanished as quickly as it had come. Over the last six days, ever since Trip had spent a night in sickbay after his so-far worst seizure, his partner's health had deteriorated in a slow but noticeable way. There were times when the trembling of his arms and legs got so bad Trip had no choice but to lie down for a few hours, and the movement disorders Malcolm had first noticed the evening after the seizure were now part of Trip's everyday life. According to Phlox, those were after-effects of the attack and would disappear as time went by, but of course only as long as the next seizure came along. And the next one, and the next. Malcolm tried not to think of what would happen if some day, Trip suffered an attack every day instead of every week.

"Doc." Trip's voice brought him back to the present. The engineer sounded slightly impatient, as he often did these days... although on most of these occasions Trip's impatience was directed towards himself. "I've got the remote sensor and you gave us a zillion hyposprays to use. We'll be fine."

Phlox let out another sigh. "As long as you make sure you don't..."

"...don't take off the remote bracelet," Trip finished for him. "I _know_, doc."

He slid the compartment door shut, and Malcolm almost missed the twitch of his hand as he let go of the handle. Almost.

"Ready to go?" Another voice drifted over from somewhere outside, and a moment later the Captain appeared next to Phlox in the open hatch. "Gentlemen? All done?"

"I think we've got everything, Cap'n," Trip replied. "The Vulcans give you the go-ahead yet?"

Before Enterprise left Vulcan's orbit for Kira Mayiar, Vulcan space control had requested that Archer send a message once they reached the planet, along with a detailed report on how they were planning to proceed from this point on. An understandable precaution, and even the Captain had not grumbled about Vulcan patronage this time, sending the report as soon as they had swung into orbit around the small green world.

"Captain Sirvek contacted me ten minutes ago," Archer said. "You can go whenever you're ready, Trip."

"Great," Trip replied, with a little too much enthusiasm. Malcolm knew just how nervous his partner was about going down to Kira Mayiar, and, to tell the truth, he was feeling a bit jittery himself. Of course, as security officer and the ship's chief paranoic, he was used to being nervous before away missions, but this was a bit different. It wasn't so much that he was afraid the Mayiari might hurt them - from the little T'Pol had told them about these people, hurting anyone was the last thing on their mind. No, the thing was that he had no idea what to expect, no plan, not even a hunch of what they were going to find down there. All he and Trip really had were a set of coordinates, their camping gear and one hell of a problem to take down to the planet. And hopefully, hopefully the Mayiari would be able to something about the latter.

"Did T'Pol say anythin' why we need to take our camping stuff with us?" Trip was still sitting in the open hatch with one foot tucked up beneath him. "I mean, she told us these people don't mind havin' visitors. Couldn't we stay with them?"

"I suppose you could," Archer replied, leaning against the shuttle with his arms crossed. "But it's not as if you're going to bring the shuttle down a few hundred meters from their settlement. The Vulcans were quite empathic on that. You'll have to land at least 50 kilometers away from the place where one of their... families is probably staying."

"Where they're _probably_ staying?" Malcolm repeated. He left the pilot seat and stepped up behind Trip so he could look at Archer. "Do you mean they might not even be there?"

The Captain sighed. "Wish I knew. The Vulcans refused to tell me any more than this. Fact is, it'll take you about a day to get there, and since Kira's sun only stays up for five or six hours, you'll need a place to spend the night."

Malcolm nodded slowly. The fact that they would have to abandon the shuttle admittedly didn't sit well with him, but at least no one had said anything about leaving their communicators behind. It was the least thing that he - and Trip - needed, being stranded on an alien world with no means to contact the ship. Not when Trip's condition was as critical as it was turning out to be.

A soft chuckle came from Trip's direction. "This is startin' to sound like a shoreleave expedition," he said, and turned his head so he could look at Malcolm. "You up to a hike, Mal?"

"I guess so," Malcolm answered and chased away his next thought before it could take hold: _I hope you are. _"If we still have a walk ahead of us, I'd say we'd better get started," he added.

"Right you are, Mal." Trip began to climb to his feet, one hand cautiously on the frame of the hatch, but before he could straighten himself up, his left leg suddenly gave way as if someone had kicked it. Trip stumbled, falling backwards, and would have likely suffered a nasty bruise on his bottom, had it not been for Archer catching him a second before he hit the deck.

"Careful, Trip," was the Captain's only comment as he helped his former Chief Engineer regain his balance, but all the same, Malcolm couldn't help but notice the worried look in his eyes. Archer knew as well as he did that Trip had not simply lost his footing. Phlox, hovering in the background, looked very much as though he would have liked to comment on what had just happened, maybe utter another warning, but to Malcolm's relief he refrained from doing so. Trip's smile had vanished, and after a muttered "Thanks" in Archer's direction he turned his back on everyone else, pretending to busy himself with the medkits. The Captain caught Malcolm's eyes, conveying a mute message. Malcolm knew that Trip would have been annoyed, had he known what the Captain was telling his partner behind his back: _Keep an eye on him._

Malcolm nodded in Archer's direction, aware that Trip would have resented his silent response just as much: _I will. _If you asked Trip, it was him keeping an eye on Malcolm, never the other way around. Unfortunately, Malcolm viewed the matter just the same, only with the roles reversed. And he _would_ keep an eye on Trip, he silently swore to himself. Even if he had to make it so that Trip never noticed.

"Well, then," the Captain said, "I guess it's time. Doctor..."

Trip turned around again, even managing to smile a little as he got to his feet. "See ya around, Cap'n."

Archer answered his smile. "Don't forget to contact us once you've landed."

Trip nodded. "Sure thing."

The Captain regarded both of them for a moment. "Good luck down there," he said quietly. Malcolm didn't miss the undercurrent of worry in his tone, and found that for once, he could fully identify with his Captain's feelings where an away mission was concerned. It wasn't supposed to be done like this, jumping into things like two children exploring a deserted house, not sure what they were going to find or if, in fact, they were going to find anything at all.

Trip reached out to close the hatch, returning Malcolm's mind to the matters at hand. The lights outside were dimming, as always when the shuttle bay was being depressurized, and a red light on the helm console flashed up, warning them not to activate the thrusters just yet.

"Mal?" Trip was watching him closely. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Malcolm said absently, and only when Trip rolled his eyes realized that he had just used the "f" word again. "Really, I'm okay," he added with a smile, and this time, Trip seemed to believe him.

Malcolm returned to the pilot seat and activated the starting sequence. He watched the red light blink a few more times, then turn into the bright green beacon that let him know he had another 30 seconds before the hangar doors would open.

Trip had taken a seat behind him, and Malcolm didn't have to turn around to know that his partner was eyeing the navigation controls with a longing look. Both Trip and Archer were crazy about "teaching those babies a few more tricks", as they called their occasional pilot practice, crazy enough in fact to help Travis install a flight simulator in one of the cargo bays. Malcolm, for one, was happy enough to do without a go at the simulator (or any other cubicle that was designed to shake about the contents of your stomach), and found himself wishing he could have given up the helm to his partner, just so things would have felt more _normal._

A beeping sound from his console announced that the doors were being opened. Malcolm fired the thrusters, tilting the shuttle's nose downwards once the gray metal plates had slid back into the hull. As always, there was a slight lurch as the shuttle dropped into space, just enough to remind you that you no longer were in an environment designed to resemble Earth's gravity. Once the shuttle was safely on course, Malcolm slightly turned his head and saw that Trip was smiling a little. "Feels strange, huh?"

Malcolm knew that Trip was not merely referring to the bumps and shakes of a shuttle start, and answered with a slight smile of his own.

"Yes," he said. "It does."

--------------------------

Once they had passed the last layers of clouds (not that there were that many to begin with), Malcolm saw that Kira Mayiar's surface did not look very different up close. Mostly, it was green, a wide prairie stretching into all directions, undulating shadows suggesting that the landscape consisted of a number of shallow hills; waves on a gentle green ocean. Even the sky was tinted mossy green, and it was difficult to tell where the hills ended and the clouds began.

"Nice," Trip said, and Malcolm found himself agreeing with his partner. It wasn't the sort of landscape that made you go "oh" and "ah" (well, that made most people go "oh" and "ah" - Malcolm had never been given to rapturous cries of enthusiasm over any kind of scenery), but it was nice, in a quiet, peaceful way. Like a picture you would look at to gather your thoughts for meditation.

He brought the shuttle down on top of one of the hills, a few dozen meters away from a clump of small, birch-like trees. The noise the thrusters made as they were deactivated seemed unusually loud, maybe because of the silence that reigned in this place.

When they opened the hatch, the first thing Malcolm noticed was the smell of real, unrecycled air he had come to associate with planetside missions. It wasn't always a pleasant thing, bearing in mind the occasions when they had visited civilizations that saw no need to do anything about pollution. This time, however, it _was_ pleasant, a smell of grass and wind and untouched nature.

Trip smiled. " Nice." He climbed outside, more carefully than he usually would have done, and looked down at his boots, which had disappeared in the shin-deep grass that covered the ground. "Smells great."

"It does at that." Malcolm followed him outside, routinely scanning their surroundings. Other than the birch trees to their right, he couldn't see anything larger than a bush within miles of their current position. It did seem a peaceful place, and for a moment he almost felt as an intruder. This wasn't a place made for exploring, for trampling around with heavy boots, lugging equipment and interrupting the silence that seemed to have been here centuries before any living soul had ever set foot on this earth.

In the meantime, Trip had taken out his communicator and flipped it open. "Tucker to Enterprise."

A short burst of interferences followed, then: "Archer here. Are you okay down there, Trip?"

"Couldn't be better," Trip replied. "We're gonna set off southwards in a few minutes, once we've got our stuff out of the shuttle."

"Stay in touch," Archer said. "I want you to contact the ship every five hours at the least. Don't forget."

"Sure thing," Trip said.

"Good. Let us know if anything unexpected happens."

"Will do. Tucker out."

Trip stowed the communicator into his arm pocket, then looked at Malcolm. "I guess we'd better get to work."

A few minutes later two backpacks, mostly containing camping gear, stood next to the open hatch. Malcolm had insisted on taking a full set of field equipment with them, including flashlights and a sensor designed to announce the presence of any approaching biosign larger than that of a rabbit. The various parts of the device were currently stowed away in the top of Trip's backpack, an impressive heap of tent poles and a rolled up sleeping bag rounding off the picture.

Trip sighed. "This is gonna feel like carryin' a small house."

Malcolm grinned, hoisting up his equally large bundle. "Didn't you want to go an a camping expedition?"

Trip only rolled his eyes and lifted his backpack off the ground. Malcolm's amusement faded when he noticed the slight tremble running through Trip's arm as the engineer adjusted the straps to his shoulders. Knowing they would only end up arguing, he didn't offer to take part of Trip's share of the load and looked away again as if nothing had happened. Maybe there was a way he could smuggle some of those tentpoles into his own backpack when they broke camp in the morning.

Trip was doing his best to ignore what was happening, waiting until the trembling had subsided with the air of a man waiting for a drained battery to re-charge itself. Once his hand was steady enough, the engineer took out his scanner, his fingers slowly and carefully searching the keys to activate the grid of coordinates that pinpointed their current position.

"I think we should be okay headin' this way," he said after a second of studying the display, and nodded in the direction of the birch trees. "It's as good a guess as any."

Malcolm barely suppressed a sigh, wishing for the hundredth time that the Vulcans had given them more precise instructions where to find the Mayiari "family". Like this, it was like chasing a herd of deer through a thick forest.

"Let's hope they're not moving camp as we're talking," he said. According to T'Pol, a Mayiari family never stayed in the same place for more than six months.

Trip tucked his scanner away. "I seem to remember a conversation about thinkin' happy endings," he teased, smiling to take the sting out of his words. "We're gonna be fine, Mal."

Malcolm followed him down the hill, deliberately putting on his best scowl. It was nice to be able to do this again, some plain old bickering, Trip "Sunshine" Tucker versus Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, Predictor of Gloom and Doom. It made things feel pleasantly _normal_.

"_You're_ going to be fine. I for one could do without a few additional days of crossing alien territory."

Just as Malcolm thought he would, Trip rolled his eyes at his choice of words. "Sometimes I can't believe you were a Boy Scout as a kid. Don't these guys spend all of their time runnin' around in the woods and explorin'?"

"Eagle Scout," Malcolm replied archly. "As to our "running around in the woods", that was called survival training. And one of the first things you learned there was never to invade potentially dangerous territory if it can at all be avoided."

"Sounds like a fun way to spend your summer vacation."

"It was." Malcolm smirked, remembering one particular week of "survival training" that had included twelve-year-old Malcolm Reed smoking his first cigarette, together with a few other daring survivor trainees who had managed to elude the sharp eye of law, or, in that case, the sharp eye of Danny, their patrol leader. At the time, not even the gruesome taste of smoke on his tongue had spoiled the thrilling feeling of doing something that was not, repeat NOT, allowed.

Trip regarded him with one eyebrow raised. "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not." Following a sudden urge, Malcolm reached out for his partner's hand and squeezed it gently. "You do know that I'm looking forward to spending some time with you?"

Trip smiled, closing his fingers tighter around Malcolm's hand. "Same here."

Malcolm knew he should let go again - it wasn't exactly Starfleet protocol for two officers to be holding hands while "crossing alien territory" - but he held onto Trip's hand all the same. More's the fun, as twelve-year-old, lawbreaking Malcolm might have said.

Together, they climbed the hill adjacent to the one where they had abandoned their shuttle, the shin-deep grass brushing over their ankles as if they were walking through a giant angora rug. For some reason, the sensation made Malcolm smile, and he suddenly knew he would mind an additional few days not at all.

-------------------

True to the Captain's words, the sun began to set a mere two hours after they had climbed the first grassy hill. During their hike, their surroundings hadn't notably changed, except that the sloping hills had given way to a more or less even plain. Once or twice, Malcolm thought he had seen a glimpse of something brown and furry move in the grass, but whenever he tried to make out what it was, it seemed to disappear again. Some sort of animal, he supposed, but very likely nothing they had to be afraid of. For some reason, Malcolm had a hard time convincing himself that they needed to look out for dangers in this place. Like the brown animal, everything around them seemed to acknowledge their presence in some way, give a passing nod to the fact that there were two strange, blue-clad figures making their way through the quiet grassland, would maybe even watch them for a while, but not with any exaggerated interest. Malcolm wondered if the Mayiari were going to react the same way... that was, if they ever encountered any of them. Until now, there hadn't been the slightest indication of anyone - any sentient beings - living in this place.

About half an hour after the first red streaks appeared on the evening sky, they discovered a clump of trees much like the ones back at the landing site; with their whitish bark and pale green leaves, they looked like birch trees, except for the fact that they only reached up to a grown man's shoulder. "Bonsai Birches", Trip called them, and for some reason Malcolm found the name the funny enough to chuckle like a fool whenever he looked at one of them. Or maybe it was just the fact that he and Trip had been laughing and teasing each other for most of the afternoon, and at that point it didn't take much to set him off again. Malcolm couldn't remember the last time he had felt so free simply to enjoy himself.

After they had set up their tent (Malcolm dutifully placed the warning sensor a meter away from the entrance, although he didn't really believe they were going to need it), they abandoned the camp site long enough to do a little exploring of their surroundings - and, following Trip's suggestion, to see if they could find some dry branches for a campfire. The Bonsai birches were scattered over an area of maybe 50 square meters, interrupted here and there by small green bushes, some of which carried tiny, cranberry-like fruit. Several of the bushes gave the distinct impression as if someone had been here before, diligently picking the berries off the lower branches, and Malcolm was reminded of the small, brown animal he had seen. Maybe it came here to feed, choosing another bush each time for its daily meal. After a moment's hesitation, he tucked his scanner back into his pocket. There was really no need for them to take any of its berries, not when they had several rations of prepacked food back at the camp site.

"Mal!"

He raised his head, his mind still on the brown animal which kept darting back into his thoughts, just as it kept darting by on the periphery on his vision whenever he wasn't paying full attention to his surroundings.

"You gotta look at this!"

Trip was a few meters ahead, crouching down next to a mossy boulder. When Malcolm came closer, he noticed a faint sound like a tap turned on, and a moment later saw what Trip was looking at: from beneath the boulder, almost as if it were coming directly out of the stone, bubbled a small stream of water, disappearing back into the ground less than a meter from its origin. It looked perfectly real, the tiny brook having burrowed a small, pebble-filled bed into the ground, and yet Malcolm couldn't help the impression that this was something more than simply a spring that had dug its way to the surface. For all its natural appearance, it almost seemed as if someone had put it there, very deliberately picking this place, sheltered by the birches and close to the berry-laden bushes.

Malcolm crouched down next to Trip, who scooped some of the water into his cupped hand, bringing it to his lips.

"Smells great," he said, cautiously dipping the tip of his tongue into the clear liquid. "Tastes great, too. Don't worry," he added as he noticed Malcolm's eyes on him. "I scanned it, there's nothin' in there that could give us the runs."

Carefully, Malcolm immersed his hand into the water and brought some of the cold liquid to his mouth. Trip was right; the water did have a special taste to it, a faint trace of something he could not quite determine. Malcolm had a feeling he would recognize the taste if he waited only a few seconds longer, but all of a sudden, he wasn't so sure if he really wanted to know.

"Remind me to re-fill our water bottles in the morning," he said, shaking the water off his hand and getting back to his feet. He knew he had surprised Trip with his business-like tone, but there was something to this place that made him want to be as rational and down-to-earth as he could... if only to stop his thoughts from taking him somewhere he'd rather not go. There were some things, like physics, maths and strategics, that Malcolm believed in, and some he did not, and he knew he preferred to keep it that way.

On their way back to their tent, Trip discovered several dried-up cranberry bushes, and they pulled them out of the ground, shaking off the last, shriveled leaves before they carried them back to the camp site.

Against Malcolm's expectations, the brittle twigs burned well, and as he watched the flames, he felt a twinge of the afternoon's excitement return. Sitting close to Trip in front of a crackling campfire, sipping tea and watching bursts of sparks explode when another dry branch broke in two was the best thing he had done in a long time, the best he had felt in a long time. They had eaten their meals, which Trip had heated on their camping stove - "too bad we don't have any marshmallows", he had commented - lighting the dry branches only when their empty containers and plates were stowed away with the rest of their equipment. After all, the fire was only "for mood", as Trip called it, and not to actually cook their meals on.

Malcolm felt an arm slide around his waist, and a warm weight settle against him as Trip leaned on his shoulder.

"Nice," the engineer commented somewhat drowsily, sighing when Malcolm's arm came to rest on his shoulders. "I've always wanted to do somethin' like this, y'know. Jus' the two of us, somewhere nice and quiet. Like this place, or the beach you told me about."

Malcolm knew immediately what Trip was talking about; the night after the away team had returned from the Ru'khi homeworld, when he had sat at Trip's bedside telling his unconscious partner about a white beach, palm trees and sunshine.

"I didn't realize you heard me back then," he said, not sure whether to feel embarrassed or not. "I thought you were sleeping."

"I was," Trip replied quietly. "Most of the time, anyway. But I remember wakin' up for a few moments, jus' barely. I knew I was hurtin' all over and I was terrified, but then there was your voice, tellin' me 'bout this great beach you wanted us to go to. You said you would only wade around in the shallows and not to dunk you under, not even think about it. Then I fell asleep again."

Malcolm nodded. "That's about what I said," he said, watching another shower of sparks rain onto the ground in front of their feet. "I didn't know what else to do. I..."

He trailed off. He didn't want to think of how helpless he had felt, that night and the days that had followed.

"I love you, Malcolm," Trip said suddenly. "I love you, and I'm sorry for every time I made you think any different. I'm so sorry for puttin' you through all this mess. If there was somethin' I could do..."

"Shh." Malcolm reached out and turned Trip's head around, leaning forward until their lips were touching. "Don't. Don't apologize." He kissed him, softly, slowly. "I love you too, Trip. There's nothing you have to be sorry for."

A quick, darting movement at the very edge of his vision caught his attention, and this time, Trip seemed to have noticed it as well. They turned their heads, spotting it both at the same time. A small animal, doubtlessly the one whose presence Malcolm had noticed before, was sitting on the ground about ten meters away, the fire illuminating its chestnut fur. It was about the size of a cat, its torso, legs and brush like those of a fox, the large, slanted brown eyes adding a completely alien feature to its appearance. Now that he really _saw_ it for the first time, Malcolm was surprised how beautiful it was.

Another surprise followed hard on the heels of the first one when Trip chuckled softly. "There you are." With a glance at Malcolm he added, "This little guy's been followin' us for a while. I saw him first about an hour after we started walkin', but I wasn't sure then."

Malcolm nodded. "I've seen him too." He regarded the creature which was sitting perfectly still, watching them with its strange brown eyes. "He doesn't seem to be dangerous."

"Nope." Trip grinned. "S'almost as if he's keepin' an eye on us, to see where we're goin'."

Malcolm smiled, but at the same time he never took his eyes off the animal. The fox, as he had started to call it in his mind, calmly met his gaze, sitting there with its tail neatly draped across its paws as if it were a guard on duty. And maybe, a voice at the back of Malcolm's mind added, maybe it _was._

As if it had picked up on his thoughts, the fox flicked one large, triangular ear, then turned around and disappeared between two bushes... or, at least, Malcolm believed that was what had happened. In the flickering light of the fire, it had almost seemed as if the fox had simply... vanished.

"Strange," Trip said quietly, looking at the spot where the fox had been sitting only a second before. "It wasn't afraid of us at all."

Malcolm said nothing in response and they simply sat there for a while, watching as the fire slowly consumed the last dried-up twigs and branches. Finally, the flames died away, leaving only a faint red glow behind. In the meantime, the sun had disappeared behind the horizon and the air had noticeably cooled down, a strong wind blowing over the open grassland. Trip's head had come to rest on his shoulder, and the engineer's deep, even breathing suggested that he was very close to dropping off right then and there.

Gently, Malcolm prodded his partner. "Trip."

"Mmmmph," Trip said, coming fully awake when Malcolm prodded him again. "Whassup?"

Malcolm smiled. "We should go into the tent. I wouldn't want us to catch a cold out here."

As always when he was sleepy, Trip's accent thickened. "Sleepin' next to the campfire's part of the tradition, Mal."

"Well, we'll have to skip that particular part," Malcolm replied, wisely not asking what "tradition" Trip was referring to. "I'd rather not listen to you cough and sneeze for the next five days, thank you very much." He carefully extricated himself from Trip's arm and got up. "Come on."

Trip sighed and stood up as well, gathering up their empty tea cups. The wind had gained strength, scattering the ashy remains of their campfire across the ground and making the door of the tent flap wildly as they ducked inside.

"Reminds of the first M-class world we found," Trip said, once the door was safely secured. He unrolled his sleeping bag and started to open the zipper. "There was one hell of a storm goin' on even before we went into the caves. Nearly blew out our campfire."

Malcolm smiled. "I bet Travis jumped on the chance to scare you all out of your mind."

"Yeah." Trip shrugged out of his uniform overall, discarded the black shirt and kicked off his boots before he started on the task of zipping their two sleeping bags together. ""The Ghost of George Webb", it was, I think. I guess even T'Pol was gettin' the goosebumps, although she'd never admit it. All done," he added, holding up the lumpy something that was two Starfleet issue sleeping bags converted into one large enough to hold two people. "Let's hit the sack, shall we?"

"Absolutely." In the meantime, Malcolm had stripped down to his briefs as well, and was glad to crawl into the warm sleeping bag next to Trip. Outside, the wind continued to whistle eerily, and Malcolm found himself hoping the tent pegs would stay where he had planted them into the ground earlier on.

He felt two arms snake around his waist, Trip's mouth placing a gentle kiss on the nape of his neck.

"Night, Mal," Trip muttered sleepily, and pulled him close so that they lay spooned together. Malcolm put his hand over Trip's and stroked the long fingers that were intertwined on his stomach.

"Sleep well, love."

He listened as Trip's breathing quieted down, then turned into an even rising and falling. More often than not, it was Trip who fell asleep first, and Malcolm loved to simply lie there and feel the warmth of another presence at his side. The first few weeks when they had been sleeping together, Malcolm had even found himself reluctant to drop off, secretly afraid that the arms holding him would be gone when he woke up. He needn't have worried, though. Trip was always there, and in the end it was often Malcolm who put his foot down and insisted that they get out of bed in time for their shifts, and no more cuddling. In the meantime, Malcolm had gotten so used to serving as Trip's oversized pillow that he found it difficult to fall asleep without his partner quietly snoring next to his ears.

Carefully, so as not to wake the other man, Malcolm half-turned his head and listened. Yes, there it was, very soft but distinctly audible, the sound he needed to go to sleep. He smiled into the dark, and only a few minutes later, Malcolm Reed was fast asleep.

Outside, next to the charred twigs that had once been a campfire, the being Malcolm had called a fox sniffed the air twice, then, with the air of someone who found things to be to his satisfaction, turned around again and disappeared into the night.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	16. Chapter 16

**Title**: Killing Thing

**Author**: Sita Z

**Genre**: Angst/Drama

**Rating**: PG 13

**AN: **Thanks for the feedback :)!

---------------

Chapter 16

Malcolm was woken rather abruptly by a bare foot hitting his right leg. Before he had really come awake, the foot collided with his leg once again, kicking harder this time.

Malcolm quickly moved aside. "Ow! Trip, what..."

But he didn't have to ask what was going on. Once he had switched on the flashlight they had tied to the ceiling of the tent, he could see it perfectly well for himself. Trip was lying on his side, face turned away from Malcolm, his hands clutching frantically at the soft material of the sleeping bag. His whole body was twitching as if a giant fist had grabbed hold of his waist and were now trying to shake the dear life out of him. His feet kicked at the restraining fabric as he desperately struggled to get away from the invisible assailant.

"Trip... oh bloody hell."

Malcolm wasted no time trying to rouse Trip; the engineer's eyes were tightly closed, as they had been when the seizure had overcome him in his sleep. His face was the grimace of a man in pain, unaware of anything but the terrible convulsions that were shaking his body.

Malcolm's own feet almost got caught in the sleeping bag as he scrambled to the other side of the tent where their backpacks lay. Cursing himself for not taking precautions, for not preparing the hypospray before they had gone to bed, he fumbled with the zipper of the side pocket and finally managed to open it. He felt around inside, and for one terrible second believed they had left the medkit in the shuttlepod. Then his fingers hit something hard, and he pulled out the small box, almost dropping it as he undid the sealings on either side. Neatly arranged inside were a dozen small injectors, each containing several doses of the "strong stuff", as Trip called it; the stuff that went directly to the origin of the seizure and knocked out the haywire brain impulses.

Malcolm took one of the hyposprays and carefully adjusted it so that it would release only one dosage into Trip's bloodstream. A glance at Trip out of the corner of his eyes told him that the seizure had not relented, was still holding his partner's body in its cruel grip. He went back to Trip's side, and gently, as Phlox had shown him, took the trembling arm and applied the injector. The hypospray emptied itself with a small hiss, and only a split second later, the twitching and trembling came to a halt. A final shudder raced through Trip's body, then he went limp, his head tilting to one side. The engineer's face was pale and slick with sweat, but at least there was no blood on his lips this time; Trip frequently bit himself when he was having a seizure.

Gently, Malcolm straightened his partner's awkward position, untangling Trip's legs from the sleeping bag and pushing his rolled up jacket under the engineer's head as a makeshift pillow. As always when a seizure had pounced on him in his sleep, Trip was slowly coming to, looking disoriented and confused as if he weren't quite sure where he was, and what he was doing here.

"Hey there." Malcolm forced a smile as he brushed a damp strand of hair out of his partner's face. "Are you alright? Trip?" he added, thinking of Phlox' advice to call Trip by his name after a seizure.

Trip's eyes came to rest on his face. "Enterprise?" he asked in a slurry voice that made Malcolm's heart sink.

"No," he replied, careful to keep his own voice calm. "We're not on Enterprise. We're on a planet, Kira Mayiar. Don't you remember?"

Trip knitted his brows as though he wasn't sure what Malcolm was talking about. Then, after what seemed like an eternity although it couldn't have been more than a few seconds, the bewildered haze lifted from his eyes, and he blinked.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I remember." He moistened his lips before he continued, "Another attack?"

It was painful to hear the carefully concealed shame in Trip's voice. Malcolm knew how much Trip hated it when this happened, when the poison in his brain reduced him to a bundle of twitching limbs that had no control whatsoever. All the more so when it happened during the night, startling Malcolm from his sleep with a sharp kick by one of Trip's flailing feet.

Not sure what to say, he simply nodded and handed Trip one of their water bags.

"Here. You must be thirsty."

Trip took it and unscrewed the cap with still-shaky fingers. "Mal..."

A soft chirp from the direction of their backpacks interrupted him. Leaning over, Malcolm reached into the top pocket of his backpack, took out his communicator and flipped it open.

"Reed."

"Ah, Lieutenant." Malcolm recognized the doctor's voice. "The Commander's bio monitor shows that he had a seizure a few minutes ago. I trust you have everything under control?"

Malcolm glanced at Trip, who avoided his eyes and fiddled with the screw cap of the water bag instead. "Yes, I gave him one of the hyposprays you prepared. He's awake now."

"I'm glad to hear it." Despite his efforts to sound upbeat, there was a touch of worry in Phlox' voice that was audible even through the crackle of the open channel. "May I speak with the Commander for a moment?"

"Of course." Malcolm handed the communicator to Trip, who took it with obvious reluctance.

"Hey, doc."

"Commander," Phlox returned Trip's less-than-enthusiastic greeting with his usual bedside cheer. "How are you feeling? Any dizziness or nausea?"

"I'm okay," Trip answered - a little too quickly. Phlox seemed to have noticed as well.

"Commander, your remote sensor shows me that you're not "okay". I realize that you dislike discussing your condition, but since I can't examine you right now, I have to rely on your honest assessment."

Trip sighed. "I'm feelin' a little fuzzy. And my head's achin'."

"Any pain in your limbs or joints?"

Trip hesitated. "A little," he said then, which Malcolm translated into 'they're hurting like hell'.

Phlox, who was also well-versed in Trip-speak where health matters were concerned, made a soft clucking sound.

"I know you're not going to like this, Commander, but I must insist that you rest for at least twenty-four hours before you continue your hike. And I mean "rest" as in "lying down and allowing your body to recuperate"."

"But, doc..." Trip looked at Malcolm, obviously seeking his support. "We can't sit around here for a whole day doin' nothin'. I'll be fine. Jus' give me a few hours and I'll..."

"Commander," Phlox cut him off, his tone now sharper than before. "Either you follow my instructions, or I must ask Mr. Reed to see to it that you do. And I can assure you that the Lieutenant will follow my orders to the letter. It's for your own good, as Mr. Reed very well knows."

Malcolm nodded and raised his eyebrows at Trip at the same time, letting him know that he didn't regard this as a joking matter. Trip scowled as he turned back to the communicator.

"Seems I've got no choice, with the two of you against me."

"Exactly." Phlox returned to his usual joviality, and Malcolm had to bite back a smile. Phlox' newly discovered tactic - ganging up with his rebellious patient's partner - worked a lot better than all the doctor's lectures ever would. "And Commander?"

"Yeah?"

"I trust you to inform the Lieutenant immediately if you experience any further pain or discomfort. Don't wait until it gets too worse to bear."

Trip avoided Malcolm's eyes, and confirmed what Malcolm had already suspected; Trip's headache and soreness were not merely a result from the seizure, but had been there all along, maybe ever since they had begun their walk. And maybe, if a certain stubborn engineer had said a single word, they could have taken a few more breaks, could have taken things more slowly, could have avoided the seizure.

_But of course you wouldn't_, Malcolm thought. _For some insane reason or other, you feel you've got to push it and push it until you hurt yourself._

"Got it, doc," Trip replied, sounding subdued. He was still avoiding Malcolm's eyes. "I'll tell him."

The fact that Trip knew he was in trouble gave Malcolm a certain, grim satisfaction. Once he had assured the doctor that he would take care of Trip, he closed the channel and stowed the communicator away, all without even looking at his partner. The medkit was still where he had left it after his frantic search for the hypospray, and Malcolm began to go through its contents until he found an injector labeled as painkiller. He took it out and adjusted the dosage. The soft hiss as he pressed the injector's spray nozzle against Trip's arm was the only sound in the tent. The engineer didn't even try to protest.

As Malcolm closed the medkit and put it back into the side pocket where it belonged, he could feel Trip's eyes on his back, could almost see the sad, "puppy-dog" expression that always seemed to do him in. Not this time, however. This time, no matter how much his heart ached at seeing Trip in pain, he was really, genuinely angry, and he intended for his partner to know it.

Finally, Trip broke the silence. "Ya mad at me?" he asked quietly, almost as if he were afraid of the avalanche his question might break loose.

Malcolm refused to turn around. "Yes," he said simply, without an attempt at his famous "snarkiness".

Trip seemed to sense that Malcolm was not in the mood for one of their usual squabbles. "Look, Mal..." He trailed off, then began again. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell ya. I thought I was gonna be okay... I haven't been feelin' well for a while now, not really, and I didn't think this time would be so bad."

This time, Malcolm did turn around. "It didn't have to happen, you know? The seizure, I mean. If you'd told me about your headache, we could have taken a few more breaks. We didn't have to walk for three hours non-stop."

Trip's face changed, the guilty expression disappearing to be replaced by hurt, then by anger. "You're sayin' this is my fault?"

Malcolm only looked back at him. A part of his mind, the part that usually said "I told you so" when Malcolm found himself wallowing in guilt after a fight with his partner, reminded him that this was a mean thing to do, that he himself never mentioned any physical discomfort unless it was absolutely necessary. Another part however, the part that felt weary and drained after all those weeks of emotional strain and struggle, waiting, hoping, praying that Trip would be all right, only shrugged. So maybe he wasn't being fair... but was it fair that he should watch his partner's condition deteriorate, and do so with a smile on his face, hiding his own fears and worries so Trip would not be discouraged?

His thoughts must have been written on his face, for Trip suddenly glanced away. The anger on his face was gone and only left sadness in its wake, sadness and guilt that made Malcolm feel like the lowest piece of shit in this universe and those beyond it.

He opened his mouth, not even sure what he was going to say. "Trip..."

Trip shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mal," he said very quietly, so that Malcolm had to strain his ears to hear him. "I'm sorry for doin' this to you, and I only wish... I wish I'd handled things differently. But I guess I've told you that a hundred times before and you're sick an' tired of hearin' me harp on about it. I know I'd be."

Malcolm shook his head. "I'm not sick and tired, Trip." It wasn't true, however, not entirely. Maybe he wasn't sick, but, God, yes, he _was_ tired. Not tired of Trip - Malcolm knew he'd never be tired of Trip. But he was tired of Trip being hurt, Trip being sick, of Trip still flinching from his touch when he was having a nightmare, of Trip not smiling when he would have smiled before, not laughing as he used to... before. Before one man's prejudices and a chain of unfortunate circumstances had changed everything.

"Yes, you are." Trip was talking very gently, his voice carrying no trace of accusation. "An' that's okay. You've always been there for me, all the time when I was hidin' away and whinin' and wishin' I could crawl into a hole and die. I dragged you down with me an' you never said a word. I know it changes nothin', but I want you to know that I'm sorry. I... don't know what else to say."

Malcolm shook his head. "It's just that... I wish things could be back to normal," he admitted in a voice that had almost dropped to a whisper. Yes, that was about it, as pathetic as it was. He wasn't sure what had brought on the sudden down, but right now this was about all he could think about. He wanted things to be like they had been before, wanted to go to work every day, live his life on Enterprise, which was - contrary to most people's beliefs - dull old routine most of the time, and he wanted to do all of this in the happy knowledge that he had found someone who loved him, and whom he loved back. He wanted things to be simple again.

An arm slid around his waist and Malcolm looked up to find that Trip had abandoned his side of the sleeping bag. A moment later he found himself being pulled into a hug and for the first time in all those weeks, he simply allowed himself to be held without trying to return some of the comfort Trip was giving him. Right now, Malcolm was too weary to comfort anyone and as Trip's arm tightened around him, he realized, with a certain dull surprise, that it was okay. He wasn't letting anyone down and he wasn't being the world's worst boyfriend. He was simply tired.

"Me too, y'know," Trip whispered, his breath tickling in Malcolm's hair. "I wish things could be like they were before. You know, this afternoon... it almost felt like the old times. We were havin' such a good time, and I didn't want to spoil it. I know it was a stupid thing to do, but..."

Malcolm only shook his head. "Not stupid," he muttered sleepily. "It's alright, love."

Trip began to run his hand down Malcolm's back and up again, a soothing motion meant to lull him to sleep. Once more, his conscience stirred, reminding him that he was being terribly rude to fall asleep in the middle of what was supposed to be a serious discussion. But he was so tired and Trip wasn't helping, stroking his back like this and humming something that sounded suspiciously like a lullaby. The last thing Malcolm knew was Trip carefully lowering both of them back on to the sleeping bag, still holding him close and caressing his back. Then he went back to sleep.

----------------------

When Malcolm woke up again, the sun was shining and filling the tent with a strange dusty light. For a moment he couldn't remember exactly what he was doing here, wrapped up in a sleeping bag that seemed far too large for one person. Then he noticed that Trip was gone.

Malcolm propped himself up on one elbow. Someone had rolled up the door of the tent and tied it into place, and for a second he was blinded by the bright light. He blinked, and suddenly noticed a smell he wouldn't normally associate with waking up on an alien planet. Malcolm sniffed again. Yes, no doubt about it. Someone out there was making coffee... and, if Malcolm could trust his sense of smell, was frying bacon, of all things.

Malcolm pushed the cover half of the sleeping bag aside and, after some digging around, found his uniform at the end of their makeshift bed. Trip's was still there, as well, and Malcolm took them both, carrying them loosely over his arm as he ducked through the door.

Once outside, Malcolm couldn't help but smile at the sight that greeted him. Trip, wearing only his blue shorts and undershirt, was sitting on the ground by their rekindled campfire. On a small grill, heated by the flames beneath, stood a pot with coffee and a frying pan with several slices of bacon sizzling inside. Trip was using a charred stick from the fire to turn over one of the slices, operating as diligently as he did when handling a warpcoil.

When he became aware of Malcolm, he raised his head and smiled. "Mornin', Mal. Have a good sleep?"

Malcolm nodded. "You should have woken me up though."

Trip grinned and shook his head. "Nah. Cookin's somethin' I like to do without anybody lookin' over my shoulder."

Trip's good mood was infectious. Malcolm made a show of inspecting the pot and pan, raising his eyebrows as he turned back to his partner.

"Is there anything in there I should worry about?"

Trip shook his head. "Nah, the heat's gonna kill most of the germs." He laughed at Malcolm's expression. "Don't worry, it's all straight out of Chef's pantry."

Malcolm sat down on the ground next to Trip, their uniforms forgotten. The cool wind that had started in the evening had turned into a gentle breeze over night, and the sun was warm enough so that he felt comfortable wearing only his shirt and shorts.

"Smells great, no matter where it came from," he said, and Trip laughed.

"Wouldcha hand me those plates?"

Malcolm set down the two plastic plates next to the fire and watched Trip place five slices of bacon on each of them. The sight and smell of the food made his mouth water. Seemingly from nowhere, Trip produced another plate with toasted slices of bread and added them to the bacon.

"Coffee needs to steep for awhile yet, I'm afraid."

"That's fine." Malcolm took his plate and began to eat, relishing each bite. Somehow, the fresh air had stirred his appetite... or maybe it was the fact that Trip, the proverbial anti-morning person, had gotten up early just to make him breakfast. "This is lovely, Trip."

The engineer seemed genuinely pleased. "I used to do this as a kid when I went campin' with my buddies. We'd put a fryin' pan on the fire and threw in jus' about everythin' we'd brought from home. My mom used to say she was afraid we'd end up eatin' our socks and shoes if we weren't careful."

Malcolm laughed. "When I was nine, Madeline and I started a fire in the garden shed trying to make popcorn."

Trip's eyes grew wide. "You're kiddin'."

"No, really. Mum wouldn't let us use the microwave oven, but I was convinced that all you needed was a proper source of heat, so we started a fire using a few crumpled newspaper sheets."

A grin was starting to spread on Trip's face. "And?"

"Well... it was microwave popcorn, the sort that comes in a paper bag. Suffice it to say that it's a very bad idea to hold such a bag over open flames where it could catch fire."

Trip cracked up and Malcolm smiled as well. Now, twenty-three years later, he could see the funny side of the whole affair, although the memory of his father, red-faced and soaked with the water he had used to extinguish the fire, still made him shudder.

As he watched Trip laugh, Malcolm felt a pleasant warmth spread in his stomach. Right now, although he was still pale, Trip looked as if there was nothing wrong with him at all. Sitting by the campfire on this bright morning, Malcolm thought of last night's rude awakening and subsequent scramble for the hypospray like a bad dream. It was a wonderful feeling, even though he didn't miss the slight tremble of Trip's hand as the other man poured coffee into their two cups. What was important, however, was that the sadness he had seen on Trip's face was no longer there, not even lurking in the corners of his eyes where it had always been present for so long.

He raised his cup to his mouth, savoring the taste of the freshly brewed coffee on his tongue, and so he missed the quick, darting movement that caught Trip's attention.

"Mal, look!"

Malcolm followed Trip's outstretched hand . Between two of the small green bushes sat, its ears cocked forward, the small fox-like creature they had seen yesterday. In the bright sun, its fur sparkled as if someone had sprinkled it with gold powder.

Strangely enough, it didn't so much as startle at Trip's sudden movement, and regarded the two humans with quiet curiosity... or, Malcolm thought with a touch of bewilderment, maybe even amusement.

"He looks like he's laughin' at us," stated Trip, answering the creature's calm gaze over the rim of his cup. "Strange little fellow."

_Not laughing at you. Laughing with you. There's a difference, is there not?_

Malcolm's head snapped up. "What?"

Slowly, carefully, Trip set his cup down in front of his feet, never taking his eyes off the fox. "I didn't say anythin', Mal."

"But... I heard..." He trailed off, not sure how to explain. He had heard the voice, as if it had spoken right next to his ear... although that wasn't quite what had happened. It had spoken _inside_ his ear, and, to be exact, inside his head as well.

Trip nodded. "I know. I heard him too."

_I'm not sure if "he" is the right term... although if I'm going to be what you call a "fox", then I guess I'm a "he". A female fox would be a vixen, would it not?_

A sound like laughter followed, and this time, Malcolm _knew_ it had been inside his head... and, although he could not have explained how he came by that knowledge, inside Trip's head as well.

The fox smiled. Malcolm had no idea how he did it, but there was no doubt in his mind that he was sitting by a campfire, holding a cup of coffee and being smiled at by a fox.

_Hello_, said the fox, swishing his furry tail through the air and settling it gracefully on his front paws. _I believe it won't surprise anyone when I say that I'm very happy to meet you._

Malcolm exchanged a glance with Trip.

_I'll be damned_, Trip thought as their eyes met.

And although he really had no way of knowing what Trip was thinking, Malcolm found that he couldn't help but agree.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	17. Chapter 17

**Title**: Killing Thing

**Author**: Sita Z

**Genre**: Angst/Drama

**Rating**: PG 13

**AN: **Thank you for your reviews!

---------------

Chapter 17

"Who are you?" Trip asked.

The fox tilted his head. _I guess "fox" is as good a name as any... and I like the sound of it. I might even add it to my Own Names_.

"You have more than one name?" Malcolm wanted to know. He wasn't sure why, but for some reason he wasn't scared of hearing the voice speak inside his head. He couldn't have explained why, but somehow he _knew_ that this being was not going to hurt them... in fact, he had a distinct feeling that if the fox wanted to hurt them, he could have done it a long time ago.

_Oh, many of them. Some of them I like more, some I use only when the necessity arises. A Vulcan child once called me a sehlat, and I think I liked that one best of all. Sehlats are wonderful creatures, did you know that? They're fierce and protective when they need to be, but at the same time their fur is softer than a silk blanket, and they're the best sleeping companions a child could wish for._

"Wait a minute." Trip held up a hand. "I'm sorry, but I still don't quite understand who you are."

The fox smiled again. _Oh, but I think you do._

_"They can change the nature of matter."_ Malcolm didn't have to look at Trip to know that they had both come to the same conclusion.

"You're a Mayiari," he said slowly, saying aloud what he had read in both their minds. "You're shape shifters."

_In a way, I guess we are_. The fox "sounded" thoughtful... although Malcolm was still struggling to understand exactly how a thought could express any emotions at all. _Shape shifters... yes, we shift shapes, although not only our own. But it is a good term for what we do, so yes._

Trip moistened his lips. "How... how come we can suddenly, well..." He waved a hand between himself and Malcolm, and Malcolm heard him finishing the thought in his head, feeling the touch of unease that accompanied it as if it were his own: _"How come we can suddenly read each other's minds?"_

_It's the khansara_, the fox answered. _Your friend T'Pol told you about it. The bonding of minds._

"But..." Malcolm shook his head. This was getting more and more surreal by the minute. He had never quite believed that it was possible to "sense" someone else's thoughts, and the discovery that this was actually happening_, that he was hearing Trip's voice inside his head_, left him struggling for words. "We thought it was some kind of... ritual? We haven't even found your family yet, and..."

_Oh, but you have found us_. Now, he sounded amused. _And as for the ritual, as you call it, it started the moment you set foot on this world. In fact, I was pleased to see how well you were doing. It's why I came to speak to you earlier than I had planned_.

"So you've been watchin' us all the time?" Trip frowned. "But... why couldn't you talk to us? And why didn't we notice this telepathy thing before?"

The fox seemed to have expected these questions. _I couldn't talk to you because I had to find out what you wanted. Everybody who comes to visit us has a reason for doing so, and it was important that I knew yours. As for the telepathy... the khansara is not something that happens in a matter of minutes. Sometimes it takes weeks, months even, until there is communication. But it seems that you were ready to listen for your mind-voices. And now you can hear each other._

He said the last part as if he had just given them a wonderful present, and Malcolm sensed the genuine pleasure in his thoughts. For some reason he was surprised; secretly, he had been more than a little scared of this, of having to participate in a weird bonding ritual that involved telepathy, and he knew that Trip had been scared as well. To hear that it had already begun made it easier in a way. And hearing Trip's voice in his head... well, it could have been worse.

_Charmin' as always, Mal._

Malcolm shot his partner a mock glare, knowing that this last piece of thought had not come from the fox. Trip was grinning, and Malcolm felt a sudden, inexplicable relief. This was not much different from talking; not really. Well, you didn't move your lips, and there was this strange feeling of another presence, another thinking, feeling mind close to yours. Other than that, however, it was not as he had it expected it to be. No "probing" in the darkest corners of his mind, no invasive voices telling him to do things. There was only Trip, whose "mind-voice" was not in any way different from his normal one, and a small, smiling fox... and Malcolm instinctively knew that they would only see and hear what he wanted them to see and hear.

_If this is telepathy_, he found himself thinking, _I don't know why the Vulcans make such a secret out of it. It's not that big a thing, is it?_

_It can be_, the fox answered seriously. _We are only scratching at the very surface of what it can be... what it can do. But_, he added, sensing the unease rising in their minds, _in the khansara, communication is taken to a level that both parties feel comfortable with, and not a step further. And I believe we have reached that level, at least for now._

Both of them nodded, and the fox smiled his strange smile. _I thought so._

"So..." Trip hesitated for a moment before he continued. "You said this khansara started when we set foot on the planet. Does that mean you're willin' to... to help me?"

Although nothing changed about the small creature sitting in front of them, Malcolm sensed that the fox had become very serious. Trip seemed to have noticed as well, and tried to backtrack. "Sorry if I offended you, it's just that..."

_You didn't offend me_. The fox offered him a telepathic smile of reassurance, and Trip relaxed. _It takes a lot more to do that, I assure you. And yes, I - we - are willing to help you. But the khansara is not finished, _he answered the next question before Trip had a chance to ask it. _The bonding of your minds is not complete yet_.

Trip glanced at Malcolm, who could see - and feel - his partner's unease. "But we can hear each other, can't we? And you said it wasn't gonna go any further if we didn't want it."

_Yes_, the fox answered. _This is how it will be for you, if that is what you want. But the khansara is about more than simply talking to each other with your mind-voices. I need to know that you are ready before I can help you_.

"Ready for what?" Trip wanted to know.

The fox gave him a long look, and Malcolm sensed a trace of sadness in his next words. _You've been hurt_, he said. _You've been hurt and there's poison in your mind._

Trip averted his eyes at that. For the first time since he could heard Trip's voice in his mind, Malcolm could feel his partner deliberately pulling away, a feeling as if Trip had drawn a curtain in front of his thoughts. Before the curtain was completely closed, however, Malcolm got a glimpse of a hurt like an open sore in Trip's mind. A sore that had still not healed, no matter how well Trip had learned to live with it.

"What do you want us to do?" Malcolm asked quietly, eyeing the fox who had turned his head to look at him. "We came here so you could help Trip get better. I'm sure you know about the seizures he's been having. They're getting worse. If you're going to help us, you'll need to do it soon."

_We don't have time for silly mind-games_, his mind added before he could stop it, and of course the fox heard him. _Sorry_, Malcolm added quickly. _I'm just..._

_You're worried_, the fox said. _I understand._ _And I know about the chemical that causes your suffering, Trip. But that is not the poison I was talking about._

"I know," Trip said softly. He was still not looking at either of them.

_Yes, you do. And it is this other poison that we have to deal with first. I cannot make it go away - only you yourself can do that - but before I help you, I have to know that the poison is not stronger than the two of you._

"I don't understand," Malcolm began, although at the same time he realized that he did understand. T'Pol had told them that the Mayiari only helped people who were supported by a stable mental bond. Obviously, they also wanted hard evidence to prove it.

The fox smiled. _Exactly. It is - how was that word I saw in your mind? - a challenge. Not because we're unwilling to help you, but because we need proof._

"What do you want me to do?" Trip asked. He looked back at the fox, sounding tired as he continued. "I can't just make it all go away. I tried that once before, and believe me, it didn't work at all."

Malcolm was surprised; Trip had never spoken that openly about his feelings - or the suicide attempt, for that matter. The fox calmly met his eyes.

_I know. And I wouldn't ask it from you._

"But then what do you want us to do?" Malcolm couldn't quite keep the frustration from his tone, growing even more irritated when the fox suddenly smiled at him.

_Take a walk_, he said. _For now, all I'd like you to do is take a walk. Oh, and I wanted to thank you, Malcolm._

Malcolm frowned. "What for?"

_For not eating the berries because you thought they belonged to me. That was a very thoughtful thing to do._

There were a thousand things Malcolm wanted to say to the fox - ask where the sudden non-sequitur about the berries had come from, how taking a walk was supposed to help them, and, most of all, if he would terribly mind stop speaking in bloody riddles - but he never got the chance. As suddenly as he had done on the previous evening, the fox disappeared, giving the impression as if he had simply vanished into thin air. _More likely than not he did vanish,_ Malcolm thought, torn between fascination and annoyance.

Something like a dry chuckle echoed in his mind. Malcolm looked up and found that the corners of Trip's mouth were twitching.

"What?" he asked, trying to get used to the feeling of sensing the other man's amusement in his own thoughts.

Trip shook his head. "Nothin' really. I'm still tryin' to wrap my mind around the fact that all of this - " he gestured at the camp site - "is really happenin'."

_Maybe this is what goin' crazy feels like_, his thoughts added, and Malcolm felt the amusement disappear. _Maybe you just sit there and watch it happen, still wonderin' if you're awake or dreamin' when they're draggin' you off to the mental ward._

"I don't think so," Malcolm replied, involuntarily speaking aloud as if to place more emphasis on the words. "All of this feels real enough to me." _And I can hear you_, Trip, he added in thoughts. _I can feel you there, in my mind. How can I be hallucinating when I **know** that you're seeing and hearing the same things as I do?_

Another chuckle stole into his thoughts. _Logical, as T'Pol would say_. _Totally crazy, but still logical._

Malcolm smiled. Trip was right, this _was_ crazy, at least by the standards of their normal every-day lives. In the "real" world, animals didn't talk, they certainly didn't communicate telepathically, and no one - except for the Vulcans, maybe - knew what it felt like to sense another presence in your mind. If any of these things had happened to him back on Enterprise, he would have gone to see Dr. Phlox (or maybe reminded himself not to pull so many all-nighters and get some much-needed sleep). Here, however, in a world where things like EPS conduits and targeting scanners seemed as out of place as their campfire would have looked on Enterprise's bridge, Malcolm found himself strangely at ease with the idea of talking to foxes and hearing his partner's voice in his head.

_After all, isn't this what people do in fairy tales? Going to haunted places, speaking to animals that give them mysterious advice..._

Again, the - sound? sensation? - of Trip's amusement drifted through his mind. _More like a ghost story, Mal._

_Well, whatever. _Malcolm smiled, speaking his next words aloud. "Would you like to go for a walk, Trip?"

-------------

The light morning breeze had died away when they left the campsite, leaving only warm sunshine in its wake. As Trip had pointed out, it would have been comfortable enough without their uniforms, but Malcolm had refused to stroll across the grassland in his shorts and undershirt, even though there was no one around but his partner to see him.

"Once was enough," he had said and Trip had smiled, sharing Malcolm's mental image of the two of them back on Risa, heading back to the shuttle in their Starfleet blues. "And I'd rather avoid stepping barefoot on a poisonous snake, thank you very much."

Trip had rolled his eyes at that. "There's no poisonous snakes around, Mal, not if... Well, I'm sure we'd be just fine."

Malcolm didn't need to ask what Trip had been about to say; he had heard it clearly enough in his mind. _"Not if we don't want them to be."_ The disturbing thing was that he understood very well what Trip was talking about; deep down, he knew that they would not encounter any hostile wildlife on their walk, unless... well, unless they wanted to. There was something about the way the grove of birch trees had appeared when they had been too tired to go on much further, about the slight pineapple flavor that had lingered in his mouth after drinking the water from the spring, that made it difficult for him to ignore these things, or dismiss them as mere coincidences.

All the same, he had insisted that they wear their uniforms and take one of the back packs with them so they wouldn't have to carry the medkit by hand. Trip had said nothing when Malcolm had done a quick inventory of their supply of hyposprays, but Malcolm hadn't missed the unhappy look in his partner's eyes. It was easy to ignore the problem when it didn't draw attention to itself, easy to pretend that the seizure of the night before had never happened, and Malcolm knew that Trip would have liked to do just that. He also knew, however, that they could not afford to do so.

Now, as they walked through the grass with the sun warming their backs, the moment of tension had disappeared, and Malcolm smiled when he felt a hand reaching for his own. Trip's fingers were warm and dry, his thoughts a peaceful murmur, and for the first time, Malcolm found himself actually enjoying the presence of another mind close to his. It was like a hand resting on his arm or shoulder, a constant and unobtrusive reassurance that he was not alone... in more ways than one.

As if to emphasize the thought, he tightened his fingers around Trip's, which earned him a lopsided smile. Actually, neither of them was really one for holding hands - "it's more a girl thing", Trip might have put it - and since back on Enterprise public displays of affection were out anyway, it wasn't often that they went anywhere hand in hand. Malcolm smiled. So maybe he wouldn't usually do this, and maybe Trip's callused paws weren't ideal for your usual romantic hand-holding stroll (nor were his own, for that matter), but right now he found that he didn't care.

Malcolm was startled out of his thoughts when Trip suddenly stopped in his tracks.

"Look at this, Mal!" The engineer pointed at something a few meter ahead of them, a pile of mossy rocks that Malcolm could have sworn hadn't been there a minute ago.

"What do you suppose this is?" he asked. Trip shook his head.

"Dunno. Maybe it's another spring."

As they came closer, Malcolm saw that Trip was right; there was water coming out from under the largest rock, a small cascade that had dug a shallow pool into the ground. The pool, no more than two meters in diameter, was surrounded by long, thin stalks that reminded him of reeds. He wasn't really surprised to see that there was no discernible difference between these plants and those he had seen back on Earth; after all, you _expected_ to find reeds along the edges of ponds, so of course they would be there. T'Pol might not have agreed with his logic, but Malcolm had discovered that in this place, the things you expected to see and the things you actually saw often turned out to be the same.

Leading away from the pool, almost hidden between the bluish-green stalks, was a small brook that seemed to grow wider in the distance.

_How come we didn't see this before?_ Trip's voice broke into his contemplations. Malcolm turned his head to see Trip eyeing the brook with a frown. _We're barely 500 meters away from our campsite; we would've noticed if..._

_...if this had been here before_, Malcolm finished Trip's thought in his own head.

"This is the direction we came from the day before," he continued aloud. "There was no brook there yesterday."

Trip's eyes were still tracing the creek that led further into the grassland, disappearing between the shallow hills about a mile away. "Maybe he wanted us to find it," he said quietly. Malcolm didn't have to ask who Trip was referring to.

"Do you think he wants to show us something?" he asked.

Trip shrugged. "Only one way to find out, is there?"

Malcolm glanced at the hills in the distance. "Trip, I'm not sure if-"

_Look, I know I'm supposed to take it easy_. _And I'm not gonna pull any more stunts like... like yesterday. If I'm tired, I'll let you know. Promise. It's just that... I think this is important._

Malcolm sighed; telepathy or no, he knew he couldn't refuse Trip anything when he was getting that sad puppy-dog look. Unfortunately, Trip caught his thought and began to grin, obviously pleased with himself.

_And don't I know it._

Malcolm rolled his eyes. _Don't think I don't know you've been practicing with Porthos._

Trip's grin grew broader, reminding Malcolm suspiciously of one Denobulan doctor. _Hey, I learned from the best._

Despite himself, Malcolm laughed. "Get out of my head, Yank, or you're going to regret it."

"Are ya threatenin' me, Loo-tenant?"

Malcolm smirked, trying to sound dangerous. "I might be."

Trip, of course, had seen far more menacing variations of that smirk and only grinned in response. "Well, it jus' so happens that I like it in your head. Whatcha gonna do 'bout it?"

_You should know better than to challenge me, dear._

Two seconds later, Trip found himself flat on his back with his arms pinned on either side of his head and a very smug-looking armory officer straddling his waist.

"Remind me never to ask ya such a stupid thing again, okay?"

Malcolm grinned, not letting go of Trip's wrists. "With pleasure, love. Now what to do about you..."

An image entered his mind, and he saw Trip's eyes widen.

"Not the ticklin' thing again, Mal, that's not fair!"

For a moment, Malcolm was sorely tempted to do the "tickling thing" until Trip did the trickling thing (Trip had admitted that, as a kid, it had actually happened to him once, to his never-ending embarrassment), but then he decided to have mercy on his partner. Letting go of Trip's wrists, he laced his fingers into the blond hair instead and leaned forward until their lips were touching.

"Now, would I ever do such a thing to you?" he murmured against Trip's mouth. Trip's now free hands crept around his waist, pulling him closer so that he was all but lying on top of the other man.

"Yes you would."

Trip's lips brushed against his own and Malcolm leaned into the kiss, pleasure warming him from the inside as Trip parted his mouth to meet him. When they broke apart again, they were both breathing heavily, and for a second, a very brief second, Malcolm hesitated. Then he carefully rolled off of his partner, snuggling close to Trip to show him that it was okay.

"Mal...," Trip began, but Malcolm silenced him with a quick kiss.

"Shh. It's alright, love."

He knew that part of Trip wanted it as much as he did, but the short flare of panic he had sensed in his partner's mind was enough to convince Malcolm that this was not the time or place. There were things they needed to do first; places they had to go.

He became aware of Trip's feelings that were whirling through the other man's mind like a rainstorm; love and affection for his partner, a desire to continue with what they had begun, a touch of frustration and anger at his own inability to overcome his fears.

_I'm sorry, Mal. I..._

_I love you, Trip. _Malcolm looked his partner in the eyes and smiled. _It's okay._

Hesitantly, Trip smiled in response. _Love ya, too._

_I know._

For a while, they stayed where they were, lying next to each other in the grass and listening to the soft background murmur of the brook. Once again, Malcolm became aware of the ever-present silence of this place, a silence that was only interrupted by the chirping of the crickets and their own voices... if they chose to speak aloud. He smiled. It was strange how quickly he had gotten used to this rather unconventional way of communicating.

After a while, Trip stirred again and Malcolm turned his head to see his partner looking at him.

"You alright?"

Trip nodded. "Yeah. And as much as I'd love to stay here..." He smiled, both with his eyes and with his mind. "I think we've got somewhere to go."

Malcolm smiled and propped himself up on his elbow, plucking a wayward blade of grass out of Trip's hair.

_Well, then... what are we waiting for?_

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	18. Chapter 18

**Title**: Killing Thing

**Author**: Sita Z

**Genre**: Angst/Drama

**Rating**: PG 13

**AN: **Thanks for the feedback!

---------------

Chapter 18

They had followed the brook for less than a mile when Malcolm saw that his first impression had been right: what had been a narrow bed of water only a few meters further up was turning into a fast flowing stream that would have left a grown man standing neck-deep in the water, had he tried to cross it by foot. Once the shallow hills began to rise on either side of the banks, the growth of reeds that had steadily accompanied the stream up to that point disappeared to be replaced by weeping willows. In the meantime, Malcolm didn't doubt that the knotty, gray trees with the drooping branches were indeed willows, even though their leaves were floating on a stream that had its origin several hundred light years away from Earth.

_I wonder where they came from, though_. He let his eyes wander across the peaceful tableau, trying to remember if he had - consciously or unconsciously - imagined weeping willows next to "their brook", as he had come to think of it. He couldn't remember doing so, but that didn't mean the picture hadn't been there, hidden somewhere deep inside his mind.

_I think that one came from me_, Trip's mind-voice spoke up. Malcolm turned to his partner, who smiled and continued aloud: "There's a small river like that near my parents' house in Florida."

An image appeared in Malcolm's mind: a band of green water, snaking its way through equally green meadows, its water spotted with leaves from the weeping willows that grew alongside its banks. A second later, a splash disrupted the quiet scene, followed by the shouts and laughter of three children. The brief flash of memory provided Malcolm only with the image of three bobbing heads, their blond hair darkened by the water, and yet he somehow knew he was seeing nine-year-old Trip and his siblings going "skinny-dipping". A feeling of joy and fondness accompanied the images, along with an almost shy glance from Trip, and Malcolm realized that, by sharing this memory, Trip had allowed him a look at something very private.

Touched and pleased, Malcolm gave his partner's hand a quick squeeze, hoping to convey that he understood why this particular memory was so important to Trip. It had been a perfect day, the thing that always came to Trip's mind when he thought of summer and laughter and the taste of melting ice-cream on his tongue. Malcolm smiled at the image of Andy pouncing on his younger brother and giving him a good dunk under the water, laughing when Trip emerges again and shakes his head to get the water out of his ears. They had been happy that day, swimming, teaching Lizzy to do the backstroke and buying cherry snow-cones on their way back home, half of which they dribbled all over their shirts and shorts. It wasn't anything special - like a wonderful first date or a great personal success - and yet Trip had preserved the memory in his mind, as well as the happiness that accompanied it.

Malcolm held on to his partner's hand, sensing that there was no need to say anything. They continued on their way along the banks, and it was only when Malcolm felt a slight shudder run through Trip's arm that he remembered they had been walking non-stop for nearly an hour.

_Not exactly what Phlox meant when he talked about "lying down and allowing your body to recuperate"_, he thought sourly, angry with himself for simply forgetting that Trip wasn't up to a longer hike.

"I think we should rest for a while," he said, purposely speaking his thoughts aloud. Starting a telepathic argument with his partner seemed just a little too weird for his tastes.

Trip didn't look happy, but another shudder, this one more violent than the first, decided him. Malcolm realized - or rather, saw in Trip's mind - that Trip had been feeling less than hundred percent even as they had started their walk, and was now trying hard not to let show how exhausted he was.

Malcolm didn't miss the careful way Trip lowered himself to the ground as they sat down under one of the trees, or the way he briefly closed his eyes as if to suppress another pained shudder. He opened his mouth to ask why Trip hadn't said anything, but before he could say a word he saw in Trip's mind that it had simply never occurred to the other man. Just like he himself, Trip sensed that this was important, maybe more important than anything that had happened to them so far in this place. Interrupting their walk for a mere "ache" (as Trip termed it in his thoughts) wasn't something Trip would have seriously considered.

Malcolm decided to postpone his lecture (and the inevitable bickering session that would follow) and opened the medkit, taking out the small handscanner.

"Should be all right," he said, and sensed Trip's relief along with his own. In this case, "all right" meant that there was going to be no seizure, at least not this time. Neither of them said it aloud, but they both knew that another attack would have put a quick end to their hike. Malcolm had a feeling that, back on Enterprise or in fact, any other place than here, Trip _would_ have suffered a seizure, his body reacting to the strain that it wasn't prepared to deal with so soon after a previous attack. However, Trip's bio readings were clearly dropping back to normal, and Malcolm had no intention of looking a gift horse in the mouth. If they had prevented the seizure simply by _wishing_ there would be none, then it was fine with him.

Malcolm stowed the medkit into the backpack, his eyes absentmindedly tracing the drift of leaves in the water when he saw something that made him stop in his tracks. On the opposite side of the stream, almost hidden under a large root, grew a bunch of small white flowers. Of course, at a distance of more than five meters there was no way of telling their exact shape and color, but somehow Malcolm found that he _knew_ those flowers. He had seen them before, arranged in a rather disorderly bouquet and stuffed into the small ugly plastic vase that had served as a centerpiece at Maddy's horrible tea parties for her dolls and stuffed animals.

Next to him, Trip raised his head, and Malcolm realized - somewhat embarrassedly - that the strange mental picture hadn't stayed unnoticed. The image of his five-year-old sister entered his mind, perched on a chair at her "tea table" and smiling. His own eight-year-old self was sitting on the opposite chair, face red with embarrassment and only too aware of the fact that he was "drinking tea" in the company of a large turtle called Mr. Howell (Maddy's favorite of the month) and an assortment of dolls whose plastic grins seemed to snigger at his predicament. Maddy, still bearing the somewhat pinched look of someone who hasn't been outside for a long time, was laughing and talking a mile a minute, excited that her big brother had actually accepted her "invitation" (which had arrived in the form of a crumpled sheet with "Malcolm" scrawled on it in large, spiky letters). Raising the plastic teapot, she offered Malcolm another "cuppa", all the while keeping the conversation going ("We are so happy that you could come, Mr. Reed - aren't we, Mr. Howell?" - "Yes, of course we are!"). For a moment, Malcolm saw what his eight-year-old self had seen - the blue vase full of wilting daisies, Mr. Howell, who had tilted forward on his chair and was getting dangerously close to drowning in his cup of "tea", and Maddy with a smile on her face, her pale cheeks reddened with excitement.

He held onto the image for a second, remembering the mixture of embarrassment, amusement and affection for his "baby sister", never mind what a pain in the arse she could be if she set her mind to it.

Malcolm became aware of a movement beside him and turned his head, half-expecting to find Trip in stitches at the image of his partner drinking tap water out of a blue plastic cup and having a conversation with a large stuffed turtle. Instead, however, Trip was regarding him with a thoughtful smile.

"It was the summer after she was sick, wasn't it?" he asked.

Malcolm nodded, remembering long hours spent in the hospital's waiting room while his parents talked to the doctor, nights when he had lain awake and listened to them arguing - and, once or twice, crying - in their bedroom across the hall.

"They didn't expect her to survive," he said quietly. "I overheard my father talking to my aunt on the phone one evening, telling her that the doctor had said that Maddy might not make it through the night. She came over after that, to look after me while my parents were at the hospital. We sat on the couch all night, waiting for the phone to ring. At four in the morning, it finally did." He smiled a little, feeling strangely self-conscious about what he was going to say next. "It's strange... when I think about it, what I remember best is the tea party she held on the first day she was allowed to stay up for a few hours. I'm not sure why, but that was when I finally realized she was going to be alright. The doctor said she would make a full recovery, but I guess I didn't really believe it until then." He glanced at Trip. "Sounds sort of stupid when you put it that way, doesn't it?"

Trip shook his head. "Doesn't sound stupid at all." An arm came to rest on Malcolm's shoulder, and he was pulled closer to the other man. "Carin' 'bout your family is never stupid, Mal."

"No..."

"And you did great. I don't think a lot of kids that age would've picked up on how much Maddy needed you then. She did, didn't she?"

Malcolm nodded, thinking of the arguments and periods of cold silence that had continued for a long time even after Maddy had recovered. "I guess she did."

_Yeah_, Trip continued. _And you were there for her. Y'always are._

Somewhat embarrassed at what he saw in Trip's mind, Malcolm shook his head, trying for a dry smile. "I'm hardly a saint, Trip."

Trip chuckled. "Saint Malcolm." They both smiled, and Malcolm felt the arm on his shoulders tighten.

"I guess you're not," Trip said softly. "It's what you do, though. Bein' there for people. Protectin' them." _Protectin' me_.

Images appeared in Malcolm's mind, of a Malcolm he hardly recognized as himself. This man was calm, confident in a way Malcolm knew he would never even come close to, and he was... well, Malcolm would have described himself as too short, too pale, with a bush of dark hair that needed trimming every month to prevent it from getting too excited. The man in Trip's mind however was actually handsome, in a mysterious way that piqued people's interest. He was funny, smart, caring, and - that was one thing Malcolm did recognize - he worried about things, sometimes to a fault. Other than that, however...

"I'm not like that, Trip," Malcolm said quietly.

Trip only smiled. "Oh yes, y'are. You just don't see it yourself."

Malcolm opened his mouth to contradict when Trip's voice continued in his mind: _I guess there's always light-years between the way we see ourselves and the way other people see us. Y'know, I'm not like you see me either._

Malcolm gave his partner a sideways glance. "How do I see you?"

Trip's smile turned into a somewhat rueful expression. "You make me look like I'm Mr. Perfect. Like _you're_ the lucky one that I'd want to be with you."

_But I am_. It was something Malcolm had never even begun to doubt, and it still amazed him at times that this brilliant, handsome man, who could have had _anyone_, would want someone like Malcolm Reed in his life.

_Malcolm_. Trip sighed. _That's bull, and you know it. Brilliant doesn't get into trouble every other day because he can't keep his goddamn mouth shut. And as to the handsome... I'm not sure if it applies to a guy who still gets his bout of spots when he's stressed out, even though he's been on the wrong side of puberty for more than a decade._

Malcolm almost laughed out loud at Trip's description of himself; it was so absurd, and even funnier since he saw in his partner's thoughts that this actually was how Trip saw himself.

"Trip... I guess most of the women on Enterprise think it's a bloody waste that you, of all people, would be with a man. Hoshi told me that two of your Engineering staff actually had a fight over you a few months ago."

Trip looked at him with something akin to horror. "What?"

Malcolm bit his lip to keep his emerging grin out of sight. "I'm not going to name any names here, but she told me it was quite the showdown. Apparently, both ladies had been planning for months to, well, "put the move on you", and neither of them was happy to learn that the other one had similar intentions. Rumor has it that one of them ended up in sickbay with a screwdriver wound on her hand, but Hoshi thinks it might have been a mere scratch. People tend to exaggerate these things."

_At least that's what I keep telling myself_, his mind insisted on adding. _I'd hate to be stabbed to death in a dark Jefferies tube one day... not a very dignified way to die._

Malcolm glanced at Trip and had to bite back another grin when he saw the blush that had spread on the engineer's face.

"You're kiddin' me," Trip said.

Malcolm shook his head. "No, really. I'd better watch my back when we go back to Enterprise."

Finally, a reluctant smile crept onto Trip's face. "Y'know, this is one piece of information I could've done without."

Malcolm answered his smile. _Sorry, love. It's true what you said, though: We never see ourselves the way other people see us._

Trip nodded, his eyes returning to the stream. "I wonder if all of this..." - he waved his hand, his gesture including the willows and the bunch of white flowers on the opposite bank - "...is a mere coincidence. Seems to me like... like they're tryin' to make a point."

Malcolm knew that Trip was talking about the Mayiari; by now, neither of them doubted that there were more of them, although the "fox" had been their only visitor so far. At times, you could almost feel their presence; calm, observant eyes that followed you wherever you went.

"I guess so," he said slowly. "Although I'm still not sure what it is that they want us to do. I wish they'd be a little more precise about their intentions."

Trip smiled and began to get to his feet. "Well, we're not gonna find out what they want if we keep sittin' around doin' nothin'."

Malcolm hesitated. "Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"I'm okay, Malcolm." Trip held out his hand to help Malcolm to his feet, and smiled. "Really. Besides, you'd know it if I wasn't."

Malcolm allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. "I guess you're right."

He hoisted up the backpack before Trip could do so - the engineer glared at him, but seemed to decide that arguing about it would be an exercise in futility - and turned to his partner.

"Well, let's get going."

-----------------

When they reached the waterfall half an hour later, Malcolm wasn't sure what surprised him more: the sudden change in the landscape, or the fact that, in some strange way, he had know all along that this was what they were going to find at the end of "their" creek.

The waterfall wasn't high, not really; the cascade tumbled down maybe three or four meters, and the noise that accompanied it was only a low rumble compared with the roar that surrounded large falls like Niagara. Still, Malcolm was impressed, not so much by the fall than by the small lake beneath: its water was of a clear, turquoise color, like the sky above a Pacific island, and except for the rippling waves where the cascade hit the surface, it seemed to be perfectly still. The same willows that grew alongside the river surrounded it on all sides, some of them stooping so low that almost all of their branches were floating on the water. Close to the shore, Malcolm could see several white specks surrounded by green that he recognized as water lilies.

"Wow," Trip said next to his ear, and Malcolm couldn't help but agree. Usually, he wasn't given to cries of delight over any body of water, but this was different; somehow, he knew that this place was no danger. Here, he was in control, and if he decided that he wasn't going to drown, well, then he wouldn't. As simple as that.

"It's beautiful," he said quietly.

They climbed down the embankment next to the waterfall, and Malcolm found that he actually enjoyed the way the tiny droplets from the cascade tingled on his face. Trip smiled at him, and, once they were standing on the sand that stretched alongside the shore, began to pull down the zipper of his uniform, kicking off his boots at the same time.

Malcolm stared at him. "What are you doing?"

Trip shrugged off his black uniform shirt and dropped it onto the sand, where it joined his boots and the discarded overall. He grinned. "What's it look like I'm doin'?"

_Whatever it is, I'm not complaining_, Malcolm's mind commented before he could stop it, and Trip burst out laughing. In the meantime, his blue undershirt had followed the black one, and he tugged off his briefs, dropping them on top of the pile. Then he turned to Malcolm, still grinning.

"Last one in's a rotten egg!"

Malcolm, rendered speechless by Trip's impromptu striptease, could only watch as Trip turned around again and raced towards the shore, splashing through the water until it came up to his thighs and then flinging himself down with a joyous whoop. A second later, his wet and tousled head broke through the surface again, and he waved impatiently.

"Come on in, Mal!"

Malcolm could think of a dozen possible answers to this request - all of them implying that there was no way he was jumping into an alien lake, or even going near it - but instead of scoffing at the idea, he laughed and bent down to take off his own boots.

A few minutes later, Malcolm found himself carefully wading into the water, which felt pleasantly warm, and not at all like the cold, salty sea that he hated so much. The sandy ground under his feet declined at a shallow angle, giving him time to adjust to the feeling of the water coming up to his thighs, his waist, and finally his chest. Trip, who had been treading water a few meters further ahead, came over and touched his arm.

"You okay?"

Malcolm took some time to consider, and finally nodded. He was okay, and, for the first time in his life, even enjoying the feeling of water surrounding his body. The lake was clear enough for him to see bits of seaweed next to his feet, and a few tiny, translucent fish whizzing past nearby. There was no current he could feel, no tugging at his feet that might have indicated quicksand or a whirlpool. Everything was just... fine.

He turned to Trip and smiled - wanly, but it was a real, genuine smile, and Malcolm was proud of it.

"This is lovely."

Trip laughed, but in a kind way, and Malcolm saw in his partner's mind how much Trip admired him for challenging his fears in such a way.

"How 'bout we take a swim, just along the shore?" he asked, and Malcolm nodded resolutely. He began to swim, careful to stay where he knew he could still touch the ground. Trip swam next to him, a few meters away so they wouldn't hamper each other's movements but still close enough for Malcolm to feel reassured by his presence. Malcolm saw in Trip's thoughts how much the other man enjoyed being in the water, and after a while some of Trip's confidence took hold of his own mind, allowing him to relax. Greatly daring, he ducked his head under the surface and did a few strokes without coming up for air, which wasn't half as terrible as he had expected.

As he came up again, he saw that Trip had turned around and was floating spread-eagled on his back. The silly grin on his face made Malcolm smile.

"I wish we had a pool back on Enterprise," Trip said as if on cue, never opening his eyes. "You'd never see my face in the gym again."

Malcolm laughed. "You know, Captain Archer might actually go along with the idea."

At this, Trip opened one eye. "Ya think so?"

"He said he'd like to have a pool to play water polo," Malcolm replied, swimming a little closer to Trip. The engineer turned around again.

"Could be our next engineerin' project," he said. "Cargo Hold 2 is big enough, and if we rerouted some of the pipes from B-deck..."

Malcolm snorted. "I don't think Starfleet would be very happy if they found you redesigned their flagship's interior to include a swimming pool."

Trip laughed at Malcolm's mental picture of the Command staff hitting the roof. "No, I guess not. Still, I'm gonna recommend the idea to R&D. Enterprise A is gonna have an in-built pool if I get any say in the matter."

Malcolm smiled, then turned around and began to swim towards the shore. As nice as his first time to go skinny-dipping was turning out to be, he still quite liked the idea of solid ground under his feet.

"Don't have to," he called over his shoulder when he saw that Trip was starting to follow him. "I'll just go and sit on the shore for a while."

Trip shook his head, which reminded Malcolm of a dog shaking off droplets of rainwater. "Naw," he said. "I think I'm gonna do the sunbathin' thing for a while."

It was all he said, but Malcolm read in his thoughts that Trip was thinking of what might happen if he stayed in the water for a longer period of time... and that, in the middle of a lake, a seizure would not only be painful; it would be fatal. Not wanting to spoil the mood, Malcolm quietly accepted Trip's explanation and began to wade towards the shore. Their lack of towels turned out to be no problem; the sun had gained strength since they had left the campsite in the morning, and it was warm enough to "do the sunbathing thing" without drying off first. Malcolm stretched out on the warm sand and smiled at Trip who flopped down next to him.

"That was nice," he said.

"It was," Trip agreed, rolled onto his stomach and rested his head on his arms. "Y'know, for someone who's-" _...afraid of drowning..._ "-who doesn't like the water, you do a good breaststroke."

Malcolm had caught Trip's thought, but he didn't feel offended; it was true, he was afraid of drowning, and he knew that Trip understood that there was nothing he could do about it.

"Well, my father insisted that I take swimming lessons," he said. After twenty-five years, the memory of a small, skinny boy, holding onto the railing of the pool and screaming at the top of his voice (after half an hour the instructor had given up his "gentle coaxing" and had simply decided to drag his reluctant charge into the water) almost elicited a smile from him. Almost. "It actually was a good thing he did, or I wouldn't have passed the Starfleet physical exams. Swimming's required if you want to do Security."

Trip closed his eyes. "Bet ya hated it as a kid, though."

"Like the plague," Malcolm said, and they both laughed.

They lay in silence for a while, and Malcolm felt his eyes drifting closed. The sun on his skin and Trip's warm presence close by were making him sleepy, and he had almost dozed off when he felt an arm sliding around his bare waist. Never opening his eyes, Malcolm smiled and closed his hand on Trip's, squeezing it gently. Trip mumbled something unintelligible and Malcolm realized that his partner was also close to nodding off. He let his mind drift for a while, listening to the soft murmur of Trip's thoughts, and, just as he had decided that telepathy wasn't such a bad thing after all, Malcolm Reed fell asleep.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	19. Chapter 19

****

Title

: Killing Thing****

Author

: Sita Z****

Genre

: Angst/Drama****

Rating

: PG 13****

AN:

Thank you for your reviews!

Chapter 19

Trip woke to the feeling of a hand running down his back. Warm fingers massaged his skin in small, circulating movements, creating a pleasant tingle in the places they touched. For a minute or two, Trip kept his eyes closed and allowed himself to enjoy the sensation, feeling warm and drowsy and relaxed. Malcolm's hand - for Trip didn't have to open his eyes to know that the fingers on his back did indeed belong to his partner - continued its administrations and started to apply a gentle massage to the small of his back. Trip sighed, and a second later gasped for air when the hand went a little further down south, came to rest on his left buttock and squeezed it not-quite-so-gently. Trip opened his eyes and rolled over onto his side to face his partner.

"Someone's feelin' pretty good, huh?"

Malcolm smiled in a way Trip had never really seen before; usually, in a situation like this, Malcolm would display a shy half-smile, combined with a slight reddening of his cheekbones that Trip found incredibly endearing. There was nothing shy about this smile, though; if Trip hadn't known that this was _Malcolm_, he would have thought that his partner was trying, and not quite succeeding, to look "wicked".

As Trip had rolled over, Malcolm's hand had slid off his behind; now, Malcolm reached out again and gave his buttock another squeeze, this one almost hard enough to sting a little.

"You could say so," he replied, still smiling in that strange way. "Sorry, love, but I couldn't resist, with you stretched out like that... you were too tempting a target."

Trip laughed, although it sounded a little forced to his own ears. He wasn't sure if he liked the strange mood that seemed to have caught his partner.

"Yeah, well..."

He glanced over to where their discarded uniforms lay, about to suggest that they get dressed again when Malcolm continued: "Had a nice nap?"

Trip looked back at the other man, wondering what Malcolm was playing at. He had never heard his partner use that tone of voice before, heavy with innuendo and accompanied by a look that came close to a leer. Trip was about to ask Malcolm half-jokingly if the sun had gotten to him, but somehow the words never made it out. If this was one of Malcolm's weird jokes - and he did tend to make those, confusing Trip or another unsuspecting American with a sudden salve of British humor - the question would sound awkward and out of place. Instead, Trip settled for another smile and a shrug.

"Yeah, I did. You?"

"Oh, fine." Malcolm reached out again and, in an almost absentminded way, began to trail one finger along Trip's thigh. The tingling sensation that followed excited Trip, but at the same time he almost flinched away. This was getting weirder by the minute... no, second.

Malcolm glanced at him through lowered eyelashes. "Do you think you're up to a little exertion?"

Before Trip had the chance to answer, or even realize what Malcolm had just said, he suddenly found himself lying on his back in the sand, pinned down by the other man who was straddling his waist. For a second or two, Trip was too stunned to move or make a sound. It wasn't as if Malcolm hadn't used this move on him before, but never like this. Never in this almost aggressive way, as if he were trying to prove that if he meant business, he could do whatever he wanted and there was nothing Trip could do about it.

Frowning, Trip tried to move his hands, but Malcolm was holding his wrists in an iron grip, almost hard enough to hurt. A spike of sudden, irrational panic went through Trip's chest, before he told himself to get a grip, goddammit. This was Malcolm, after all, his sweet, gentle Malcolm, and if he was going somewhat over the top in his playfulness, well, it was nothing Trip couldn't deal with.

Willing himself to relax, he tried for a level tone of voice. "Come on, Mal, stop this, okay?"

Malcolm only grinned. "I don't think so, Mr. Tucker."

Without letting go of Trip's wrists, he leaned down for a kiss. Trip considered turning his head away, but only for a second. If Malcolm was really only being playful (in a strange way, maybe, but still), he would be badly hurt if Trip rejected him in such a way. He reciprocated by parting his lips slightly, only to regret it a moment later when Malcolm all but forced his tongue into his mouth. Startled, Trip tried to pull back, but Malcolm didn't seem to care, kissing him hard enough to hurt. When he finally broke the kiss, Trip gasped for air. The lack of oxygen had left him somewhat dazed and it took a second until he realized where the metallic taste in his mouth came from; blood. There were only a few drops of blood where Malcolm's teeth had grazed his lower lip, but the mere taste of it startled him like a slap in the face. This was not playfulness, and it had never been. Malcolm didn't care if he hurt him; hell, maybe he had even been trying to hurt him; he sure had bit down hard enough.

As he stared up at his partner's smug face, anger welled up inside him, accompanied by - which was worse, a lot worse - fear. This could not be happening, not now, not _ever_, and yet it was. And judging by the predatory look on Malcolm's face, it wasn't over by far.

Trip licked the blood off and forced himself not to struggle; somewhere in the more instinctive parts of his mind, he knew that he would only make it worse if he offered futile (but much enjoyed) resistance. He had no idea what had gotten into Malcolm, why he was doing this, but it had to stop. Right now.

"Malcolm," he said, hoping that the other man wouldn't notice the faint tremor in his voice. "this is no joke, okay? I'm not sure what you think you're doin', but I don't like it."

Something in Malcolm's face changed, growing hard and angry. Still, somehow he managed to hold on to his grin, which seemed as fake as the rest of his expression.

"Come on, Trip. You're the one who practically ripped off his clothes earlier. What happened to having a little fun?"

Trip refused to react to the barb; he knew that if he did, he would no longer be able to quench the anger and fear that were struggling to come to the surface.

"Malcolm, I'm not gonna tell you again. Let me go, right now."

Malcolm was breathing heavily, and for a second or two didn't move at all. Trip could see - and feel - that the other man was more than "up to a little exertion", and he had to summon every last scrap of self-control _not_ to start squirming and yelling. He knew that if he did, something awful was going to happen, something so terrible that he didn't even want to think about it.

He forced himself to stay completely still and finally, with an expression of deep disgust on his face, Malcolm let go off his wrists and got up again.

"Great."

The single word held so much frustration and contempt that Trip actually winced. Malcolm was sitting there with his arms crossed, watching as Trip struggled to get himself back to a sitting position.

"Just great."

Now that the heavy weight was gone from his midst, some of Trip's panic subsided again, allowing him to think clearly. It was all right. He was okay. Malcolm had listened to him, he had stopped. There was no need to freak out over this and make it even worse than it already was.

He forced himself to sound calm as he addressed his partner. "Look, Malcolm, I'm sorry if you thought I..."

"Please." Malcolm didn't even look at him. "Spare me the talk, okay? I don't think I can stand going through it yet again." He adopted a whining tone of voice, continuing in a cruel but accurate imitation of an American accent. "I'm so sorry, I can't help it, I'm too busy feeling sorry for myself to even consider getting back to a normal life one day!"

Trip froze. It wasn't so much the words, which were hurtful enough by themselves; it was the tone of Malcolm's voice, cold and deliberately cruel. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" Malcolm turned around to meet his eyes, and Trip involuntarily shrank back a little. "How long are you going to keep this up? Months? Years, perhaps? Every time I try to touch you, you tell me to back off, and that you need more time to get over things. Well, I'm not going to wait forever, you know!"

Trip only stared at him, hardly able to believe that this was Malcolm sitting there, staring at him with an expression of barely concealed contempt... and hate. Yes, there was no denying the look in Malcolm's eyes; anger, frustration to the point of losing it, and hate. That was what it boiled down to, and Trip felt almost physically hurt by the realization.

"Malcolm..." He swallowed. "Why didn't you say somethin'? We could've talked about this-"

"And what use would it have been to _talk_ about it? I've done so much talking, listening to your whining and telling you that none of this is your goddamned fault - although it probably is - I'm sick and tired of talking!"

Suddenly, Trip's anger was back, spilling into his voice and raising it to match Malcolm's. "I never asked you to babysit me, if that's how you see it!"

Malcolm got to his feet, his hands clenched by his sides as if he were coming that close to striking Trip. "No, you didn't, more's the pity. I should have seen that it wasn't worth the effort."

Trip wanted to get up as well, but for some reason his legs refused to move. He still didn't understand how this could be happening. Had he so thoroughly missed the signs, the frustration that had built inside his partner and was now spilling over, confronting him with all the things Malcolm had kept hidden somewhere deep inside? Again, he tried to listen for Malcolm's mind-voice, expecting an onslaught of anger and... yes, and hate, but there was nothing. Obviously, Malcolm had decided that there was no place for Trip inside his mind, or his life.

He realized that Malcolm was expecting an answer of some sort. "I..." He tried to speak past the lump in his throat, but somehow, the words wouldn't come out, and so he simply shrugged, realizing that he must look like an idiot.

Malcolm seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "God, just look at you. It's like talking to a wall. You know, it was always a little frustrating, talking to someone whose conversational topics are restricted to food, technobabble and those imbecile movies of yours... but then there was at least one aspect to this so-called relationship that I could get any enjoyment out of. Now..." His mouth became a thin line. "I don't understand why I ever bothered."

Trip said nothing. He felt cold all over, as if the world around him had suddenly turned to ice without changing any of its outward appearance. He had never before felt so naked, so exposed, and it wasn't only the fact that he didn't have any clothes on. Malcolm's words seemed to crawl into his skin, turning him inside out and stripping him of the last shred of dignity he might have had left. He couldn't even find it within himself to feel angry, or hurt, let alone say anything in response. All he could do was sit there and stare down at his hands, as if they could tell him how to stop this, how to end this nightmare.

He heard Malcolm inhale, as if he wanted to add something, and closed his eyes, wishing there was a way he could stop himself from listening. He wasn't sure if he could hold back the stinging behind his eyes any longer if he did.

Malcolm, however, seemed to have decided that there was nothing left to say, turning away with a disgusted noise.

"Just... go, will you," Trip heard him say in a flat voice, quietly, almost as if he didn't care whether Trip heard him or not. "You make me sick."

Trip raised his head and saw that Malcolm had sat down in the sand a few meters away, turning his back on him. For some reason, now that Malcolm was no longer looking at him he was able to move again. Slowly, he climbed to his feet, brushing off the sand that was sticking to his skin, and walked over to where he had left his uniform. His hands were shaking, and he almost dropped his blue undershirt before he managed to pull it over his head. He considered gathering up the rest of his clothes and leaving - all he really wanted was to get away from here, just get away - but then he decided against it. The naked feeling was still there, almost burning on his skin, and he felt he wanted to cover up as much of himself as he could. He pulled on his back shirt and uniform, closing the zipper almost to the top, then knelt down to put on his socks and boots. His hands were still trembling, and for a terrible second, Trip believed he was going to have another seizure, right here on the sand with Malcolm sitting over there refusing even to look at him. Malcolm wouldn't neglect to help him; no, Trip was sure that he would be right there, hypo in hand, but he would do it the way someone would catch a spider and quickly throw it out the window instead of squashing it right then and there - not because he was particularly interested in the spider's well-being, but because he simply saw no need to kill it, and was loath to clean up the mess afterwards. Trip had seen it in Malcolm's eyes, the contempt, the hate, and he didn't want to see disgust added to the list after Malcolm had given him the injection to stop his convulsions.

For a second or two, he didn't move and concentrated on willing the weak and shaky feeling to go away again. Finally, to his eternal relief, it subsided. A brief glance at the shore told him that Malcolm hadn't noticed. The other man was still sitting with his back turned to Trip, staring out at the lake. His entire posture seemed to echo his words of before: _Just go away_.

Swallowing hard, Trip finished fastening his boots and got up again. The backpack was still where Malcolm had left it, next to his uniform, and after a moment's hesitation Trip bent down and took the medkit out of the top pocket. He might not be able to inject himself when a seizure was turning his limbs into a twitching mess, but he could try and give himself the hypospray before the attack started. He had no intention of relying on Malcolm's help in this - or in anything else, for that matter - so it would have to do. He had no idea where he was going to go, back to their camp site, perhaps, or to the shuttle, but he knew that he wouldn't - couldn't - stay here. Malcolm was not going to see the tears that were building up behind his eyelids.

Turning around without another look back, Trip walked away, the medkit clutched firmly in his hand. He passed the willows that grew in solitary clumps in the area around the lake, but he never spared them a glance. A few hours ago, they might have reminded him of happy things, of things he would share with only one person, but now that memory was tainted. Trip felt incredible shame when he thought of the way he had shared his feelings, how he had revealed things that he had never told anyone about before.

He had no idea how long he walked, staring down at the grass that was forming gentle waves across the open land. He never raised his head, never looked back, and at times felt as though he was sleep-walking, passing long distances in his dream that he would have never been able to walk in real life. His feet didn't grow weary as they should have after a while, but he never paid it any mind. He walked on.

* * *

Malcolm was in shock. Which wasn't surprising, really; he guessed most people would be more or less rattled if they woke up to find that they had died. However, that was not exactly why he trembling all over, or why there was a puddle of rather unappetizing goo on the sand nearby. He was surprised that dead people - spirits, you probably called them - could still vomit. He would have expected them to have risen above such earthly afflictions.

In his case, it had not simply been the usual thing, floating in the air looking down at his own body from above, then passing on to whatever place he was destined to go. He had woken up to find himself sitting about a dozen meters away from his dead body, which was stretched out on the sand next to Trip as if there were nothing wrong with him. A theory that was more or less confirmed when the "body" suddenly started to move. At the time, Malcolm had been so shocked that for the minutes that followed, he could do nothing but sit and stare. He saw himself, a living, breathing person that looked like Malcolm Reed in his birthday suit, touching Trip, feeling him up in a way that would have disgusted and enraged Malcolm, had he been able to feel anything but numb stupor at the time. The phrases "hallucination" and "out-of-body experience" had flitted through his mind, but they had held no meaning, nothing that could have helped him understand why he was sitting here watching himself doing these things to the man he loved.

He had been startled out of his numbness when the Malcolm next to Trip - the body, as Malcolm had still referred to it - jumped up. For a second, it had looked as if the other Malcolm was going to punch Trip, and Malcolm had been on his feet before he could think what he was doing.

__

"No!"

Of course, neither Trip nor the other, fake Malcolm had heard his yell; spirits might be able to communicate with the living world in some way, but certainly not through yelling. Pushing Trip down in the sand, the other Malcolm had straddled Trip, and Malcolm had felt a flash of panic that was not entirely his own. It was then that he realized that Trip was still there, in his mind, although there was no way Malcolm could communicate with him. Trip's thoughts echoed through his mind like a recorded broadcast, something you could hear, but could not respond to. The realization had added to Malcolm's shock, but at the time, his attention had been solely focused on his partner. The other Malcolm had held Trip's wrist in a tight grip, and had, over Trip's repeated protest, refused to let go, leaning down to kiss him instead. Malcolm had felt the pain when the impostor had bit down on Trip's lip, had experienced Trip's surprise and horror as if it were his own.

At that point, Malcolm had no longer been able to keep himself from interfering, although he knew it would be useless. He had crossed the distance to the two men (running, not gliding like a ghost, as he had realized to his faint surprise), had yelled at the other Malcolm to back off, right now. Of course, no one had heard him, and Malcolm had been forced to watch Trip struggle to contain his panic, to stand there doing nothing as the other Malcolm decided whether he was going to take by force what Trip would not give him willingly. For one, terrible second, both he and Trip had believed that he was going to do it, that it was actually going to happen. Malcolm had wanted nothing more than to bring his hand down hard on the impostor's neck - and he had done it, too - but of course the other Malcolm hadn't even noticed that his own spirit was trying to kill him. Somehow, however, the moment of indecision had been broken. The other Malcolm had let go of Trip, with a look of disgust on his face, and had then said some of the vilest, foulest things Malcolm had ever heard out of a sane person's mouth. Although, to tell the truth, "sane" might not be the right word to choose in order to describe the person who had hurt Trip in such a way.

Malcolm had found his own eyes filling with tears as he watched Trip shuffle over to where they had left their clothes, pulling on his uniform with the air of a man who hardly knows what he is doing. For some cruel reason or other, Malcolm had still been able to feel Trip's thoughts in his mind, which at the time had been no more than a confused jumble of shock, confusion, and raw hurt. Trip had not understood what had just happened; all he had known was that Malcolm had hurt him in a terrible way, and that he had to go. Get away.

Malcolm had tried to reach out to his partner and tell him that, while he had no idea what was happening himself, he wasn't the one who had done these things to Trip, but Trip hadn't listened. He probably hadn't heard him at all. After taking the medkit out of the backpack - _not going to rely on Malcolm's help in this, or anything else, for that matter_ - he had left, never looking back. Malcolm had considered going after him, but found that, for some reason, his feet wouldn't move. He had stood there watching Trip's form grow smaller as he walked out into the grassland, feeling his partner's thoughts fade away as the distance grew between them. Malcolm knew near to nothing about telepathy, but he was sure that usually, things like space or distance didn't matter. No, the fact that Trip's presence had disappeared had to have another reason... and the only explanation Malcolm had come up with was that this was the point when he had really, truly died. His physical existence had ended some time before, while he was having a nap on the beach _("bloody ridiculous way for you to die"_, a nasty, uncaring voice in his head commented), but it was only now that _Malcolm_ had died, had been cut off from the living world for good. Cut off from Trip. And Trip was probably glad that he was gone.

Malcolm had expected himself, the ghost or spirit or whatever bleeding name there was for this state of existence, to vanish, maybe soar up into the sky (or, more likely, be consumed by a roar of flames coming from below). None of this had happened, however. He had stayed where he was, standing next to his own pile of clothes and staring at a place in the distance where Trip had disappeared a few minutes ago. It had all felt very real - the sand under his feet, the gentle breeze on his bare skin - and yet Malcolm had known that, had anyone else been there, all they would have seen was a discarded blue uniform, a Starfleet issue backpack, and nothing else.

For some reason, at that point his feet had been able to move again, and he had turned around, walking back to the shore. So maybe he was dead, and maybe there was no way he could communicate with the living world anymore, but there was one thing he could do, and that was find out what the hell was going on here. Malcolm had no idea who the person was that he had just witnessed abusing his partner, but he didn't care. They said that a ghost could come back to take revenge... well, this ghost was going to do a little more than that. He would do some thorough questioning, and, if there was any way of doing so, some even more thorough cheekbone-crushing and nose-flattening. Should be interesting to see how he himself looked, having the living shit beaten out of him.

However, when he had got back to the place where two bodies had left impressions in the sand, there was nothing there. The other Malcolm, the one who had been real enough to pin Trip down on the ground, was gone as if he had never been there. Malcolm had stood there, staring at the place where he remembered seeing his other self, and it was at that point that he had begun to feel sick. This was crazy, no, more than that, it was _insanity_, and he was right in the middle of it. Had all of this ever happened at all? Had there ever been another Malcolm? And if there hadn't... Malcolm couldn't finish the thought, couldn't even try to do so. The sick feeling had risen into his throat, making him heave, and he had bent forward, vomiting some very real-looking ghost puke onto the sand. For a moment or two, he felt as if he were going to pass out, fall down face-first and drown in his own half-digested bacon and toast. And if any of this was real, if there was no other Malcolm and it had been _him_ doing these things to Trip, for whatever insane reason or other... well, in that case, Malcolm couldn't think of a more fitting end for himself.

The moment of dizziness had passed, however, and now he was sitting on the sand a few meters away from the puddle of puke, trembling all over and trying to _think_. If he had died... then why was he still here, experiencing things like a living, breathing person? It couldn't be a dream, either; a dream wouldn't feel that real. And besides, he _knew_ that he was here, that he was sitting right here on the sand, a disgusting taste in his mouth and tearstreaks on his cheeks. You didn't know or feel that kind of thing if you were dreaming... or if you were dead. No, he was awake all right, and, if the "other" Malcolm's sudden absence was any indication, he was alive as well. But how could all of this have happened? How could he have watched another person doing and saying such terrible things, things he would never even _consider_, when it had been himself all the time? Malcolm remembered the look in Trip's eyes after the impostor - Malcolm refused to think of this being as himself - had bitten down on his lip, drawing blood. It was how he himself felt, how he had felt ever since he had discovered that madness was not simply a thing that happened to those poor other people you read about in the medical journals. He was mad, _insane_, and the worst thing about it was that he knew it. A person who almost committed a rape, hallucinating all the while and believing that he was dead, could only be insane. Dangerously so. For a brief moment, Malcolm considered if it might not be best if that person simply walked into a lake (if one happened to be available), knocked himself unconscious with a rock and hoped for the best. In this case, it might actually be a sensible solution.

A movement at the edge of his vision drew his eyes away from the water. Malcolm turned his eyes, and, behind a blur of something that could only be tears, saw something moving along the shore, coming closer. He blinked, and when his vision cleared up, he saw that the something was actually familiar, a small figure with four legs, large brown eyes and a bushy tail.

__

Malcolm

, the fox said.

_I've been looking for you._

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	20. Chapter 20

**Title**: Killing Thing

**Author**: Sita Z

**Genre**: Angst/Drama

**Rating**: PG 13

**AN: **Sorry about the cliffhanger... but hey, it was the first one ;)! Thank you for your reviews!

---------------

Chapter 20

He had been walking forever, or at least so it seemed to him. Given the five or six hours it took Kira Mayiar to rotate on its axis, it occurred to Trip that nightfall could not be that far away. As a Starfleet officer, he should have started to get worried - he was all alone out in the open grassland, no shelter, food, or most important, no water in sight. But at that point, it almost seemed as if he had left the Starfleet officer back on Enterprise, circling the planet in a safe, warm and artificial environment; and Trip Tucker could not have cared less that he was going to spend the night out in the open. He supposed that, if he began to feel dizzy from the lack of sustenance, a vitamin injection from the medkit might do the trick. Or not. It wasn't as if the idea of collapsing from low bloodsugar was all that bad. At least it would take his mind away from... everything.

He supposed that the last several hours should have given him time to think, to understand what had happened back at the lake. Or, if not understand it, at least to indulge in a few revenge fantasies - not that those would bring him anything remotely like a peace of the mind, but at least he would have had something to occupy his thoughts instead of replaying the same scene again and again. With every new mile of grassy ground that he covered, the whole thing repeated itself in his mind like a movie being played on infinite loop. He saw Malcolm's smile turn into an expression of contempt, heard the things Malcolm had said to him, and the worst thing was that every time he remembered the pain was as bad, if not worse, than it had been the first time. Trip supposed that there was a reason why this hurt so damn bad, something about betrayal and having lied to himself for a long time, but with Malcolm's words echoing in his mind he could not even start to think about it. All he could do was walk, walk away from something that would stay with him no matter how many miles he covered. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Trip would have _welcomed_ a seizure at that point, if only to divert his attention to something else and make that terrible voice in his head stop.

_I'm so sorry, I can't help it, I'm too busy feeling sorry for myself to even consider getting back to a normal life one day!_

Trip closed his eyes, for the hundredth time that day willing the burning sensation to go away. He had not cried so far, and he wasn't planning on giving up that one little thing, as pathetic as it was. If there was any way of doing so, he would keep the hurt inside, instead of allowing it to show above the surface. It didn't matter that there was no one here to watch him break down. He himself would have to see it happen, and that was enough. He was not going to cry over this. He had done enough crying in the past, and all the good it had done him was to drive away the man that he loved. Still loved.

_God, just look at you._

Thinking about it, Trip could even see why Malcolm would be disgusted with him. The things Malcolm had said to him weren't new to Trip; he had told himself more or less the same on more than one occasion. He was the kind of person people expected to get over things, himself included - good old Trip Tucker, always there to crack a joke when things are getting too tense. The class clown, the good-natured guy who might not be the brightest candle on the birthday cake, but who was always ready to listen and provide a little cheerer-upper if someone needed a shoulder to cry on. Enterprise's walking, talking comic relief. You'd expect that guy to get over something like what had happened to him on the Ru'khi planet. Good old Trip Tucker would have shrugged it off, maybe seen to it that the guys who did it remembered their mistake by a missing tooth or two, and that was that. He wasn't supposed to crawl into a hole and inject plasma coolant into his veins. A guy like him just didn't do that kind of thing. And it was the class clown, the good ole Southern boy that Malcolm wanted; certainly not the depressive, jumpy nervous wreck that couldn't seem to cope with things. No, it wasn't really all that surprising that Malcolm Reed wouldn't want to waste his time. What else could he expect, _had_ he expected?

_Do you really believe that?_

A voice spoke up in his head, so suddenly that Trip actually jumped. There was no one around, only the sky and the grass and the wind, and he knew that the voice could not belong to Malcolm. Still, he had heard something, and it had not come from within his own mind. _Someone_ had to be there.

He looked down at the ground in front of his feet, and saw the fox sitting there, looking just like he had at their first encounter; his tail draped neatly across his front paws, his eyes solemn and at the same time twinkling as if he were smiling at some inside joke only he himself knew about.

For a moment or two, Trip only stared at him. Then he turned his eyes away, wordlessly continuing his walk. He wanted to be alone, and no cute little fairy tale creature was going to pull him out of this one. Especially if said creature was probably no more than a fidget of his own, strained imagination.

The fox didn't seem to mind being ignored. Swishing his tail, he rose gracefully and began to tag alongside Trip, reminding him absurdly of Bedford, the Golden Retriever, who had loved to follow young Trip on his expeditions through the forest behind the Tucker family home.

"Go away," Trip said quietly, not really believing that it would have an effect. "I wanna be alone."

_I know_, the fox said simply.

Trip stopped in his tracks and turned his head. "Then why're you followin' me?"

The fox sat down on his hind legs, studying him with a thoughtful expression on his face. _You haven't answered my question._

Trip opened his mouth, then closed it again and turned away. _Did_ he believe what his own mind was telling him, that it had only been a matter of time until Malcolm decided that he wasn't worth the effort?

_Yes_, Trip insisted, _yes, I do believe it. I'm not too blind to see what's there in front of my own eyes. I'm not going to make a fool of myself - more than I already have - by closing my eyes and acting as if nothing's happened._

The fox said nothing, only looked at him with those soft brown eyes, and for some reason it infuriated Trip more than anything the Mayiari could have said.

"You were there, weren't you?" Trip noticed a quaver in his voice and swallowed hard to get rid of it. "You heard him. What the fuck's there not to understand?"

_I was there_, the fox replied. _And Malcolm was there as well._

"Yeah." Trip turned his eyes away. "Yeah, he was."

_Would you mind sitting down for a while?_

The question surprised Trip, which was maybe the only reason why he didn't refuse. The fox watched in silence as Trip awkwardly lowered himself to a sitting position, carefully placing the medkit next to him on the ground. The grass came up all the way to his waist, and Trip realized that if he had lain down, no one could have spotted him even at a few meters' distance. _Playing hide-and-seek. Drowning in a sea of grass._

"What do you want?" Trip asked. The fox was still looking at him, his head cocked slightly to one side.

_You're angry_, he said.

Trip said nothing. Yes, he was angry, angry and hurt, but there was more to it.

_I don't know what to think or do anymore. I don't understand what happened back there. I mean, I can find explanations and I can even try to believe them, but somehow it just_ _doesn't seem right. Malcolm... he wouldn't do that kind of thing. Even if he... if he was frustrated, or... or angry, he wouldn't..._

_Hurt you?_ the fox supplied quietly.

"He wouldn't!" Trip winced at the sound of his own voice. Here he was, claiming that he could face reality only to find that deep inside, he still didn't believe that Malcolm would do such a thing. Even if he _had_ done it only a few hours ago.

Trip turned his head to look at the fox, and to his dismay found that his eyes were blurring, after all. "Y'know what? I guess he was right about me bein' fuckin' stupid."

_You aren't stupid_, the fox's mind-voice said quietly. _You are right. Malcolm would not do such a thing to you._

Trip turned his head away to hide his tears; a futile thing to do when dealing with a telepathic being, but he couldn't help it.

"But..."

_Malcolm would not do such a thing_, the fox repeated. _You know that as well as I do_.

Slowly, Trip moved to look at the small being sitting next to him. His eyes were still moist and burning, but for some reason the hard lump in his throat was gone, allowing him to speak in a fairly normal tone of voice.

"Yes, I know that," he said, and at the same time knew that it was true. _Malcolm would not do such a thing._

"But... how..." Something cold spread in his stomach, settling in his chest like a hard chunk of ice. "You... you didn't make him do it, did you?"

_No_, the fox replied. _None of this is our doing, nor do we have any influence on it._

Trip shook his head. "But he was there. Malcolm. I know it was him, he..."

He trailed off. Yes, the person back at the lake had looked like Malcolm, had talked like him, had even moved with the agility and strength that characterized the armory officer. But Trip could not remember if he had _felt_ like Malcolm. There had been no response in his mind, not a single time. Only cold emptiness, which at the time Trip had recognized for contempt and rejection. But there had not been even a single second when he had sensed _Malcolm Reed_, or heard his mind-voice.

"It wasn't him," he said, very quietly. "It wasn't him, was it?"

_No_, the fox said_. What you saw back there was not Malcolm._

"But..." Trip shook his head. "If it wasn't him, then who was it? One of your people?"

The fox didn't react to his anger. _No. As I said, none of this is happening because we want it to. Everything you saw or heard is happening in your own mind, your own thoughts._

Trip stared at him. "You mean... none of this is real?"

_Oh yes_, the fox replied. _It is real. It is the reality of your mind, not a dream, or a "hallucination". It is happening._

"But why would I want Malcolm to do such a thing?" Trip barely realized that he had raised his voice. "I know that he wouldn't hurt me, so how can it be my mind makin' this happen?"

_The things he said to you..._

Trip turned his eyes away, but the fox continued as if nothing had happened.

_... you recognized them, didn't you? It's what you've been telling yourself all this time; your own guilt; your own fears._

"So it was really myself?" For some reason, Trip couldn't bring himself to look at the Mayiari. "The way I really see Malcolm in my mind?"

_Is it?_ the fox asked. _Is that how you see him?_

"No!" This time, he didn't even care that he was shouting. "I love Malcolm, goddammit! I don't give a shit about your fuckin' mind games, I _know_ that he wouldn't hurt me!"

The fox said nothing. Trip turned his head and saw that it was happening again, the strange thing he had witnessed once before; a being smiling without moving a single one of its facial muscles.

_Yes_, the fox said. _I think you do know that._

Trip shook his head. "I still don't understand it. If all of this happened - is happenin' - in my mind... then Malcolm should be here as well."

Trip sensed the fox' amusement disappear; the mental equivalent of a fading smile. _He is_, he said. _He's been here all the time._

Trip stared at him. Slowly, very slowly, all of this was beginning to make sense, in a terrible way. If the... person... back at the lake had not been Malcolm, only something dragged from the depths of Trip's mind where it had been spreading its poison, then...

"Oh God," Trip whispered. The cold feeling in his chest had suddenly grown into an almost physical hurt, making it hard for him to breathe. "He saw, didn't he? He saw me talkin' to... that thing."

The fox regarded him solemnly. _Yes, he did._

"He..." Trip swallowed, then continued. "Does he know..."

_At first, he thought he had died_, the fox explained quietly. _He was terrified, and angry, when he saw what the other Malcolm was doing to you. After you had left, he discovered that the person you believed to be him had disappeared, and became desperate, thinking that it might have been himself all along. When I told him that the intruder, as he called it, had come from your mind, he shut himself off, refused to talk to me._

"Oh God." Trip closed his eyes. _And it was myself doing this to him. My own stupidity, my own goddamn fears._ "But why didn't I realize that he was there? Why didn't he say somethin'?"

_He couldn't_, the fox replied. _He was there, in your mind, but you didn't acknowledge his presence. There was no way he could reach out to you. _

_Oh God._

Trip thought of Malcolm watching himself - the cruel version of himself Trip's mind had called into being - doing and saying such terrible things, without being able to interfere, or to stop it. And he himself had not even tried to understand what was going on, had simply accepted the fact that it was _his_ Malcolm doing this to him.

_He must think I never trusted him at all._

_Yes, he's hurt_, the fox said. _He's trying to understand that this is not how you see him, that it was something you had no control over, but he's still hurting._

Trip sensed that this was an understatement. Malcolm was not the kind of person who easily lent his trust, and Trip knew that sometimes, Malcolm did not even trust himself. He remembered the sparring lesson Malcolm had given him only a few weeks after the Shuttlepod incident that marked the beginning of their relationship. As Trip had half-expected (and secretly hoped), the lesson had turned into a rather sweaty but playful wrestling session, each of them trying to use unguarded moments to gain the upper hand and pin the other man on the sparring mat. Of course, Malcolm had won almost every round, but Trip had refused to give up, and Malcolm had been only too willing to comply when the engineer challenged him again and again. At the time, Trip had been secretly relieved that it was late at night and the gym was empty - it would have taken a _very _innocent bystander to mistake some of their "moves" for serious sparring. And the crew of the Enterprise, Trip had come to learn, was a lot of things, but innocent was not one of them.

As their "lesson" progressed, Malcolm had gradually abandoned his professional demeanor, had chuckled and finally laughed out loud every time he had Trip pinned on his back again. Then, after a rather unsuccessful attempt on Trip's part to get past Malcolm's guard, Malcolm had grabbed Trip's arm, intending to throw him over his shoulder. Unfortunately, however, his hand had slipped, with the result of Trip crashing into the mat face-down instead of falling on his back. Nothing had happened (except for a little nosebleed that stopped after a minute or two), but Malcolm had been mortified. He had fussed and worried, fetched at least a dozen handkerchiefs and two ice packs, and had insisted that Trip go and see Phlox before they went to bed. On the way back to their quarters, Malcolm had abused himself so viciously for his "unprofessional and dangerous conduct" that Trip had seen no solution but to silence him with a kiss, never mind that they were walking along a public corridor. (Fortunately, Murphy seemed to have retired along with the rest of the crew, and no one came along to see the Chief Engineer and the Armory Officer swapping body fluids). Later, Malcolm had admitted that there were few things he feared more than losing control and hurting someone, especially if that someone was Trip. It had taken a long time until Trip had convinced his partner to forget about it, that it had been an accident.

_"Could've happened to anyone,"_ he remembered himself saying, and Malcolm's gloomy reply: _"Maybe so, but it must not happen to me."_

"He's always worryin'," he said quietly, barely aware that there was someone listening besides himself. "Afraid that he might do somethin' wrong."

_Yes_, the fox said. _He cares about you very much._

"Not anymore, I don't think," Trip said, and to his dismay found that his voice was beginning to sound hoarse. "Not after what I've done to him." He turned his head to look at the small being sitting at his side. "There's nothin' I can do, is there? I've failed."

_And I'm not talkin' about your goddamned test._

In the meantime, Trip had come to understand that it _had_ been a test, even though the Mayiari claimed to have no influence on what was happening. Of course, his failing meant that they would not be willing to help him, that he would leave the planet as a disabled person, but at the moment he could not bring himself to care. In the course of the Mayiari's little experiment, or whatever you wanted to call it, he had hurt Malcolm, so deeply that the other man might never even want to speak to him again. And the worst thing was that he had never even realized what he was doing until it was too late.

_You haven't failed. _The fox was regarding him calmly, soberly. _What makes you think that you have failed?_

Trip pressed his lips together. "Stop playin' with me."

_You haven't failed_, the fox repeated. _You knew all along that it wasn't Malcolm doing this to you. You told me so yourself._

"I didn't...," Trip began, but he didn't finish his sentence. Yes, he had known, somewhere deep down, in the part of his mind that mattered, he had known, but what difference did it make? There was no way Malcolm would ever believe him.

_Have you tried talking to him?_ The fox was still watching him, almost as if he were curious to see what Trip would say next. Trip felt a sudden dislike of the creature, a feeling so strong that he couldn't possibly hide it.

"You don't care, do you?" he asked quietly. "It's just a game to you, isn't it. You knew I was gonna hurt Malcolm, eventually, if we started this telepathic bonding thing, but you never thought it necessary to warn us."

There was no visible reaction on the Mayiari's face - or in his mind, although Trip believed that his posture might have stiffened a little.

_This is no game. And yes, we knew someone was going to get hurt. But it is part of what happens in the khansara. There is no other way._

Trip shrugged. He suddenly felt weary, tired of talking about things he didn't really understand, tired of this place, and most of all tired of hurting.

_All I ever wanted was for things to be like they were before. I never wanted... all of this._

_Before what?_ The fox' mind-voice sounded gentle again.

Trip looked away. _Before I hurt Malcolm. Before I did that idiotic thing with the hypospray. Before... you know._

_Yes_, the fox said. _I do._

Trip let out a sigh. "So what can I do? Can I somehow... wake up? Make this whole thing stop?"

_No_, the fox replied. _As I said, this is not a dream. It is happening, in the reality of your mind. And this is where you have to resolve it._

"But how?" Trip shook his head. "What can I do?"

Again, a smile appeared on the pointy face - or rather, in the Mayiari's thoughts.

_Go_, he said. _Go and find him. It is going to be all right._

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	21. Chapter 21

****

Title

: Killing Thing****

Author

: Sita Z****

Genre

: Angst/Drama****

Rating

: PG 13****

AN:

Thank you for the feedback!

Chapter 21

After the fox had left, Malcolm was still sitting where he had been before, his legs pulled to his bare chest with his arms wrapped around them, his chin resting on his knees. He had used to sit like this as a child, at times when he was sad or afraid and felt the need to pull back into himself. He would climb onto the windowsill of the bedroom he shared with Madeline, draw the heavy green velvet curtains shut and hug his knees, allowing his mind to wander. It was like going to a place where no one else could follow him, a place where he could even cry and no one would scold him, because they would never know. If his parents had found out, they would have put a stop to it (his mother disapproved of anyone "putting their feet on the furniture", even if it was only a windowsill, and his father would have made it perfectly clear that no son of his was to run off to a little hidey-hole). They never found out, however, and Malcolm was glad they didn't. Sitting on the windowsill often eased his mind in a way nothing else could have, and allowed him to return to the real world with a sense of peace. He could take all sorts of things, if he could go back to his private place at some point and let his mind find a way of dealing with them. When he was older, Malcolm still found himself returning there, and even as an adult he would involuntarily sit with his arms wrapped tightly around his knees when he was alone and trying to come to terms with something.

Sometimes, it helped him bring his thoughts into order and put things into perspective when they seemed too big to deal with. Sometimes. But not always.

Malcolm closed his eyes. The trouble was not that he didn't understand what the Mayiari had told him. In a rational, unemotional part of his mind, he understood very well, and even supposed that he should be relieved. He had not died (ridiculous idea, really, and under different circumstances, Malcolm might have chuckled at his own foolishness). What was even more important however, was that he was not mad, had not hallucinated while another manifestation of his schizophrenic self had tried to commit an act of unspeakable violence. No, there was a perfectly logical explanation for everything that had happened, and there really was no reason for him to sit here wrapped up in himself, and fail to come to terms with things. No reason... except that it hurt like hell.

__

It wasn't you

, he remembered the fox telling him.

_It wasn't you, and he knows it. Somewhere deep down, he knew it all along._

Malcolm hadn't really listened to anything the fox had said after that. Maybe Trip really had no influence on any of this happening... but the "person" who had said and done all these foul, evil things had had his face, his voice. Malcolm could not forget the way the "other" Malcolm had looked just like him, how Trip's mind had turned him into a cruel parody of himself.

__

He loves you

, the fox had said. _More than he ever loved anyone else_.__

But he doesn't believe that I love him. Deep down, he's afraid I might turn around and...

Suddenly, thinking about became too much, and Malcolm climbed to his feet, brushing of the sand that was clinging to his skin. The shore was still bathed in sunshine, but for some reason Malcolm found that he was beginning to feel cold.

__

I guess in this place, the sun is only warm as long as you want it to be

, he thought as he turned his back on the lake and began to walk down the shore.

He reached the place where he and Trip had left their uniforms when they had gone skinny-dipping. Trip's clothes were gone, of course, along with the medkit he had taken out of the backpack. As Malcolm reached out to close the open zipper of the top pocket, a thought occurred to him that made him stop in his tracks. Trip had walked out into the open grassland with no food, no water, not even a communicator. Knowing Trip, Malcolm was sure that his partner hadn't let his physical condition slow him down, and if anything happened to him out there, he would be alone. Trip couldn't possibly inject himself when he was having a seizure, and Malcolm remembered vividly enough just how little time there was between the first tremors and the full-blown convulsions that followed.

__

And I let him walk out there, just like that.

He began to dress himself, trying to ignore the trembling of his hands. He couldn't afford any more delays, had to get out there and find Trip - if it wasn't too late already.

__

Bloody idiot, that's what you are, Malcolm Reed, a fucking bloody idiot for sitting there and blubbering when you should have-

Malcolm.

Malcolm had never thought that a voice in your mind could make you jump like a sudden noise, but it could. In fact, he jumped so badly that he almost crashed into the person who was standing behind him, his first impulse being to lash out at whoever was there. A hand came to rest on his shoulder, steadying him.

"Whoa, Malcolm. Careful there."

Literally at the last moment, Malcolm stopped when he realized who the intruder was. Trip's hand lingered on his shoulder for another moment, then the other man took a careful step backwards. An unsure, almost anxious smile appeared on his face.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

Malcolm waited for the adrenalin rush to ebb away again, then he exhaled deeply. "I... I didn't hear you coming." He paused, taking in the rumpled state of Trip's uniform and the pallor of his face. "Are you okay?"

It was a stupid question, and Malcolm realized it the second it had left his mouth, but Trip didn't seem to think so. He lowered his head, speaking so quietly that Malcolm had to strain his ears to understand him.

"I guess so. I..."

He trailed off, and Malcolm startled when he saw the tears in the other man's eyes. Trip didn't cry easily, and on the few occasions Malcolm had seen him shed tears, Trip had always tried to hide them, leaving or turning his face away so no one would notice. Only once before had the engineer allowed himself to cry openly in front of his partner, and at the time, it had taken him days of depression and an unsuccessful suicide attempt to get to that point.

"Trip, are you..."

The other man shook his head and dragged a hand across his eyes. "I'm sorry, I..." He swallowed, visibly struggling to hold back the tears. It hurt Malcolm to see Trip so obviously in pain, and part of him wanted to put his arms around his partner and tell him that it was okay... but he didn't quite dare do so.

Trip straightened up again. His eyes were red and there were tear tracks running down his face, but he managed to keep his voice steady as he spoke.

"I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am, Mal. I love you, and nothin' will ever change about that. I understand if you don't believe me anymore, but... I just wanted you to know."

Malcolm shook his head and at the same time felt something prickle behind his eyelids, something that suddenly made it hard for him to speak.

"I..."

Carefully, almost as if he were afraid to do so, Trip took a step forward, holding out his arms like someone who expected to be rejected, maybe even pushed away. Malcolm hesitated - part of his mind was insisting that this wasn't what he was supposed to do, that there were things they needed to talk about. Somehow, however, he couldn't bring himself to care. He stepped forward and Trip gently pulled him into an embrace, resting his face on Malcolm's shoulder. Malcolm's own face was wet, but for once, he wasn't even ashamed of it.

__

That's okay

, Trip's mind-voice said.

_You've got nothin' to be ashamed of. And I'm so sorry I hurt you, Mal. I can't tell you how sorry I am._

Malcolm shook his head, pulling the other man closer. _It... it wasn't your fault... you didn't make it happen..._Trip was still crying, but in his mind, he sounded calm, as if he had been thinking about this for a long time. _I mean, I know that you would never hurt me, but... ever since I was raped, I've... I've been tellin' myself that you couldn't love me, that you're disgusted by me. And I guess that was why... why this thing in my mind had your face._

Malcolm sat down on the ground and Trip, who still had his arms around him, followed. As they were sitting next to each other, Malcolm turned around in Trip's embrace so he could look at the other man.

"I love you, Trip," he said, feeling that this was something that needed to be said aloud. "You know that, don't you?"

Trip nodded. "Yeah," he whispered. "I don't see how you still could, but I can see it in your mind that you do." Suddenly, through his tears, he chuckled. "You must be totally crazy, Mal."

__

No, I'm not

. Malcolm reached out and gently wiped a tear off the tip of Trip's nose.

_And I would never be disgusted by you, Trip. Never._

Trip said nothing, but suddenly Malcolm was surrounded by his thoughts in a way he had never been before. Trip allowed him to see things he had never even let close to the surface so far, things that were hidden deep inside his mind.

__

Pain, a pain so bad that he screamed. Hands pushing his face down, muffling the sound. Heavy breathing and a voice, clouded with arousal, mocking him. Hate. Shame. Terror.

Malcolm felt tears run down his face. _I'm going to kill them._

Trip shook his head, pulling him closer. _It's okay. You were there for me_.

__

Staring at the dark. His face hurt, his back hurt, his whole body seemed like one big ache. Even his mind hurt, maybe worst of all. Someone was knocking at the door, calling him, but he didn't answer. He couldn't. The someone, however, didn't give up. The door opened and then, stubbornly refusing to leave, he was sitting next to him, talking in a gentle voice, stroking his aching back. Telling him that he was going to be there.

And you were, Mal

. This time, it was Trip reaching out to wipe off a tear.

_You didn't give up on me._

Malcolm leaned his head against Trip's shoulder and cried. He cried for the pain Trip had suffered, and, finally, for his own pain as well. Trip held him and never let go, not even when Malcolm's tears finally subsided.

__

I love you, Malcolm.

Finally, after what had seemed like forever, Malcolm raised his head to see Trip's face, wet and swollen from crying, smiling down at him.

__

I love you.

Yes

. Through his tears, Malcolm felt a smile forming on his own face.

_Yes, you do._

Later, he had no idea how long they had been sitting there, and he supposed that there was no real way of telling. Time, like everything else, seemed relative in this place. At some point, Trip began to stroke his hair, making it stick up in all directions, and Malcolm could feel himself getting drowsy.

__

What a pair we are

, Trip's voice said in his mind, and Malcolm sensed his amusement although he could not see the other man's face.

_Maybe "Disaster Twins" is the right name for us, after all._

Malcolm chuckled sleepily. _I rather prefer the "Duo of Doom". Sounds more dangerous_.

Trip buried his face in the hair he had so expertly messed up. _Duo of Doom it is, then. I'll make sure they put it on our gravestones. 'Here lies the Duo of Doom. May they rest in pieces.'_

The accompanying mental image was too much for Malcolm and he began to laugh. _You're crazy._. Trip began to nuzzle into his hair, and a warm tingling sensation started to spread in the pit of Malcolm's stomach.

Yeah, I guess I am

"Trip?" he asked, feeling far less sleepy than only a minute ago.

"Love ya," Trip murmured, placing a kiss on Malcolm's ear before he proceeded to the neck. Malcolm raised his head from Trip's shoulder, suddenly very aware of the other man's presence. The skin on his neck was beginning to tingle where Trip's mouth touched it, and Malcolm felt the warm sensation in his stomach spread further down. All he really wanted to do was close his eyes and enjoy - and for a moment or two he did just that - but when Trip's hand found its way inside his uniform shirt, Malcolm opened his eyes again.

"Trip..."

The other man stopped immediately, leaning back so he could look at Malcolm.

"Mal?"

Sensing Trip's concern, Malcolm showed him in his mind that he wasn't angry or thrown off guard by what was happening, that he was enjoying it. "Trip... are you sure that you want this? You..."

He trailed off, but his mind finished the sentence for him. _You know that you don't have to do anything you don't want. I believe you, love, and I know that you trust me. I don't need any proof._

Trip smiled at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. _I want this. I want to show you that I love you. May I?_

Again, his thoughts surrounded Malcolm, and Malcolm sensed that he was telling the truth; there was no fear or anxiety, only a tender warmth that seemed to embrace Malcolm, pull him closer.

Trip was still smiling at him, and Malcolm felt an answering smile spread on his own face.

__

Yes... show me.

* * *

Malcolm sighed, his eyes half-closed as he lay stretched out on his back. Trip's head was resting on his chest, and although Malcolm wasn't quite sure whether the engineer had fallen asleep, the even breathing and the idle drifting of his thoughts were a pretty good indication. For a moment, Malcolm allowed himself to look deeper into his partner's drowsy mind, and smiled when he found happy contentment there. He tightened his arm that was resting across Trip's bare back, and the other man shifted in response, mumbling something that sounded vaguely like "'m 'wake, Mal".

"It's all right," Malcolm said softly, and found that he was still smiling. He supposed that he was going to wear that expression for a while, maybe the next week or so. "I love you."

At that, Trip actually raised his head. "Love you, too," he said, and leaned forward to place a kiss on Malcolm's lips. "Like crazy. You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

Malcolm smiled. _Same here._

It was beginning to get dark, but neither of them felt inclined to move, and for once, Malcolm wasn't worried about staying out in the open with no protection. They had the medkit and a few bottles of water and ration packs in the backpack, and he knew that this time, there was going to be no unexpected threat declaring itself. Not if they didn't want it to.

__

I guess even the Duo of Doom gets a break now and then

, he thought. Trip chuckled, reached up and began to play with Malcolm's hair.__

Maybe at some point the Universe got tired of pickin' on us, and decided that we'd earned ourselves a little peace and quiet.

Malcolm laughed. "I wouldn't count on it, though."

Trip smiled, his hand still messing with Malcolm's hair and tousling it. "Well, I'm hopin' for the best."

Malcolm laughed and propped himself up on his left elbow. "If we're going to spend the night here, I guess we should try to get a little more comfortable."

Trip grinned. "I'm comfortable enough. Got my pillow and everythin'."

Malcolm chuckled in response. "As much as I enjoy you using me as a pillow, I think we should get the thermo-blanket out of the backpack. Phlox will have our heads if we come back coughing and sneezing."

Trip rolled over on his back and lay spread-eagled in the grass. "Okay. You get it. I don't think I wanna move."

Malcolm reached out and flicked against the top of Trip's head. "Yes, my lord. Your wish is my command."

Still smiling, he climbed to his feet and went over to the backpack that lay next to their discarded uniforms. The thermo-blanket, a built-in part of the standard equipment, was velcroed to the inside, along with another thin thermo-sheet you could use to cover yourself. Malcolm took both of them, along with a bottle of water and two energy bars (he wasn't hungry, but he supposed that in his condition, Trip shouldn't go without food for more than a few hours). A quick shake was enough to make the blanket inflate itself, and Malcolm carried it over to where Trip was still stretched out on the grass. His partner had his eyes closed, a happy grin on his face, and Malcolm smiled at the sight. He spread the blanket on the ground next to Trip, then tossed one of the energy bars so that it landed on Trip's bare chest. The engineer's eyes flew open.

"Hey!"

"Dinner," Malcolm said laconically and flopped down on the blanket, beginning to tear the wrapping off his own bar. Trip looked at his "dinner" and sighed, then rolled off his back and came over to join Malcolm on the blanket. Malcolm smiled when the other man lay back down in exactly the same position as he had before, his head pillowed on Malcolm's chest. Trip had always been a cuddler, and in the meantime, Malcolm had gotten used to being used as an oversized teddy bear, had even found that he fell asleep more easily with a softly snoring Chief Engineer wrapped around him.

Trip's breathing was beginning to slow down again, and Malcolm sensed that his partner was coming close to dozing off. Gently, he prodded Trip's arm.

"Come on, love. You need to eat something."

"Hmm?"

"Eat. Dinner."

Trip sighed, then, without raising his head, began to unwrap his own bar and took a bite.

__

Tastes like... well, I'm not gonna use that word in polite company.

Malcolm chuckled. "I know what you mean."

In the meantime, he had finished his bar and reached out for the water bottle, taking a sip and swishing it around in his mouth to get rid of the awful taste.

"Why can't they put some sort of flavor in those things? Shouldn't be too difficult, and I think I'd prefer my rations tasting like peppermint or pineapple rather than horse droppings."

Trip grinned, quickly finishing the rest of his bar. "Well, maybe they wanted to stop the crew from nickin' the ration bars out of the emergency kits when they run out of sweets. Like this, no one would eat them 'cept their life depended on it."

"True enough." Malcolm handed the water to Trip who took a generous swallow as well. "Well, shall we try and get some sleep?"

Trip tossed the bottle aside and reached for the thermo-sheet. "Yeah, let's hit the sack. I've got to admit I'm a little worn-out."

He grinned at Malcolm who smiled in response. _Same here, love. But feel free to wear me out any time._

Trip laughed softly. _You, too._

He spread the thermo-sheet over both of them, then settled back down into his former position and closed his eyes. In the meantime, the sky had darkened except for a small band of red at the horizon, and the first stars were coming out. Malcolm could feel a cool breeze blowing, but with Trip and the thermo-blanket warming him, he was feeling cozy enough. In fact, he hadn't felt that good in a long time. Trip shifted a little and Malcolm brought his hand up, running his fingers through the short, blond hair.

"Sleep well, love."

In his mind, Malcolm could feel Trip smile.

__

G'night, Mal. Love you.

I love you, too.

Malcolm felt his thoughts drifting away from the living world, and smiled when he realized that even in his dreams, he wasn't going to be alone.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!

Maybe I did.


	22. Chapter 22

**Title**: Killing Thing

**Author**: Sita Z

**Genre**: Angst/Drama

**Rating**: PG 13

**AN: **Thank you for your reviews!

---------------

Chapter 22

When Malcolm woke up the next morning, the sun was already high in the sky. He glanced down and saw that Trip's tousled head was still resting on his chest, like it had been when they had fallen asleep. Malcolm smiled and began to run his fingers through Trip's hair, combing it so that it stuck up like a porcupine's spines. He had never liked it when Trip used water and a comb to smooth his wayward hair, rather preferred the porcupine look; in his humble opinion it made Trip look incredibly sweet. Like right now, as he was slowly waking up, blinking at Malcolm with still sleepy eyes.

"Mornin', Mal."

Malcolm smiled. "Good morning, love. Did you sleep well?"

Trip yawned and rubbed a hand across his eyes. "Never better. Though I wouldn't say no to a fresh cup of coffee right now."

Malcolm chuckled. "I know, but I'm afraid not-so-fresh water will have to do. It's all we have."

"It'll be fine." Trip propped himself up on his elbows, and Malcolm found himself regretting the sudden loss of warmth on his chest. He grinned inwardly as he pictured himself asking for _"just a few more minutes, please"._

The smile on Trip's face indicated that his thought hadn't stayed unnoticed.

_Sounds great, but I guess we've gotta get goin' again. Still, how 'bout back on Enterprise we could have our own little movie night, jus' the two of us?_

A mental image entered Malcolm's mind; the two of them cuddled up under Trip's favorite quilt, eating popcorn out of a bowl in front of them and watching the first of half a dozen handpicked movies, with enough explosions to keep Malcolm happy and a choice of creeping zombies and romantic subplots to satisfy Trip's expectations of a good film.

Malcolm smiled. "I'd like that."

"Knew you would." Suddenly, Trip's eyes came to rest on something behind Malcolm's back, and Malcolm instinctively turned his head to see what it was.

_Good morning_.

The fox was sitting a few meters away, regarding them with his head cocked slightly to one side. Usually, Malcolm would have wondered how he had managed to come that close without them noticing; there were no bushes or trees at a radius of maybe fifty meters, nothing he could have used as a cover. In the meantime, however, Malcolm had learned that the Mayiari didn't need any hiding places to approach undetected. Very likely, the small being had simply appeared where it was sitting now.

"Mornin'," Trip said, and only someone who knew him as well as Malcolm did would have heard the slight tension in his voice. Malcolm had to admit that after yesterday's events, he wasn't so sure himself if he was really happy to see their old acquaintance again. Of course, the fox claimed not to be responsible - and he probably wasn't - but even so... it wasn't as if either of them had forgotten about the Mayiari's "test". Malcolm supposed that they would be thinking about it for a long time.

The fox gave no indication whether or not he was aware of the slight resentment... if that was what they were feeling. The previous day had been a rather strong reminder of how powerful this small creature really was, and even though Malcolm didn't like it, he found himself a little wary in its presence. Not afraid... but all the same, his instincts told him that this wasn't a harmless little fairy tale creature like you might see in a story book. This being had power, and although it had never shown any hostility, Malcolm didn't really want to find out what would happen if it did.

_What do you want?_ Malcolm heard Trip's mind-voice. He sensed that the engineer hadn't really meant to ask this question - at least not so bluntly - but somehow, it had slipped out. Malcolm smiled a little. Obviously, Trip's habit of letting his mouth run away with him wasn't restricted to verbal communication.

_I wanted to see how you were doing_. Like before, the fox was still being his quiet, amiable self, seemingly unaware of the feelings they weren't quite able to hide. _It's good to see that you are all right._

"Yes, we are," Malcolm replied, deliberately choosing to speak aloud. _And if we weren't... would you care?_ his mind added before he could stop it.

The fox tilted his head in a characteristic gesture. _Yes, I would, _he answered calmly_. I would have regretted it very much if the poison had been stronger than the two of you... if you hadn't passed the khansara. Still, it's not as if you couldn't have tried again._

"Tried again?" Trip repeated. "You mean..."

_I mean that as long as you're still willing to try, we would give you another chance to do so. Sometimes - quite a lot of times, actually - it takes more than one... experience to complete the khansara. Not everyone shares a bond as strong as yours... which does not mean that those unions are less worthy. They simply need a little more "working on", as you would call it._

The fox smiled his strange non-smile, and Malcolm sensed that the last part had been directed at Trip. The engineer did not answer the smile, but Malcolm felt the growing anger in his partner's thought ebb away to be replaced by astonishment... a feeling they shared.

_You mean... we passed the khansara?_

_Yes_, the fox said simply. _You did._

"But..." In his confusion, Malcolm switched back to verbal speech. "We..."

He remembered himself watching helplessly as the other Malcolm abused Trip... how he had sat on the shore of the lake afterwards, his fingers toying with a fist-sized rock, his mind toying with the idea of wading into the water until it came up to his chest, and bringing the rock down hard on his head, buying enough time for the water to fill his lungs and pull him down.

Trip actually flinched. _Mal..._

_I wouldn't have done it_, Malcolm answered, but he wasn't really sure if he was telling the truth. Of course, the idea seemed ridiculous now, and Malcolm wasn't even sure if you could kill yourself that way... but at the time, the thought of the blackness and cold silence at the bottom of the lake had seemed like a good thing. A good place for someone like him, who could not seem to avoid hurting the people he loved.

_Stop it! _Trip almost screamed, and Malcolm felt him struggle not to look too closely at the image Malcolm's mind had created_. Don't you even think about... it was me hurtin' you, Malcolm! It was my fault!_

And Malcolm saw in his mind how it had been - the shock, the incredulous anger, and finally, the deep sadness that had followed their "experience" at the lake.

_I knew it wasn't you_, Trip said, so quietly that Malcolm barely heard him even in his thoughts. _Somewhere in my mind, I knew... but at first, all I could do was... run away. As always._

"Trip," Malcolm said. He reached out and cupped the other man's face in his hand. "You may have run away, but you came back. I think that's the important thing about it."

"And you were gonna come for me," Trip added softly. "When I came back... you were gonna come lookin' for me, despite of what I'd done to you."

Malcolm nodded and lowered his eyes. He still hadn't quite forgiven himself for spending an hour sitting around and brooding when Trip could have been in danger. _Bloody fucking idiot..._

Trip shook his head, his mind-voice gently interrupting Malcolm's self-incrimination.

_No, you're not, Malcolm. And even if you are... I'm just as much of an idiot for runnin' away and leavin' you there_. A careful smile appeared in his mind. _Disaster Twins, remember?_

_Duo of Doom_, Malcolm replied, a smile of his own ghosting across his lips. _I guess you're right. So we failed... but at least we're both somewhat to blame for it._

_You didn't fail._ The fox had listened in silence to their exchange, as if he had been expecting it. _You passed. The khansara is completed._

"How could we have passed?" Trip asked, a trace of anger creeping into his voice. "It wasn't exactly as if we..."

_... did what we expected you to do?_ the fox calmly finished. _Saw immediately that it was your mind - _he looked at Trip _- creating an image, that it wasn't you - _his eyes came to rest on Malcolm _- doing and saying these things? _He regarded them for a while, and Malcolm saw quiet amusement in the small being's mind... the sort of amusement he had sometimes sensed in Phlox when the doctor was confronted with another display of strange human morality. _There was no way for you to do so._ _You could not have known. But_- and he smiled - _you didn't let the poison consume you. You realized that there was something stronger in your minds, in the bond you share. You didn't give up._

Both of them were silent for a while. Malcolm knew he should be excited, maybe even happy - they both should be - but somehow, all he could bring himself to feel was a weary sort of relief, the same thing that he sensed in Trip's mind. Part of himself kept insisting that this was not right, that there was no way he could have passed... and yet, the small creature that looked so much like a Terran fox was telling him that he had. For a moment, Malcolm wondered if the Mayiari had known what would happen, had known it before they had even set foot on this planet... maybe even before Malcolm Reed had known that a person called Trip Tucker existed. Probably. If you could change the nature of matter, time and space shouldn't be too much of a barrier.

"So..." Trip's voice drew his attention back to the present. "If we passed, then... does this mean you're willin' to help me?"

Malcolm sensed the faint tremor in the other man's voice, although Trip was trying hard to appear calm. He turned towards the fox, inwardly poising himself for the Mayiari's answer.

The fox smiled. _Yes. Yes, we are willing to help you._ Another trickle of amusement passed through his mind as he turned to Malcolm. _I wouldn't want to have a fight on my hands_.

Trip smiled as well, and only then did Malcolm notice that he had involuntarily tensed, as if he were expecting an attack. He loosened his posture and tried to smile as well. The Mayiari's words hit a little closer to home than he liked - he had no idea what he would have done, had the fox refused to help Trip after all they'd been through.

The small being didn't seem to mind in the slightest, even smiled as it looked at Malcolm. _You're a good protector_, he said. _You always have been. But don't worry. We're going to help him. In fact, we already have._

"But..." Trip frowned. "I don't feel any different. How..."

_Return to your ship_, the fox said. _You will see that everything is all right._

Malcolm opened his mouth, hundreds of questions swirling through his mind, but he never got to ask any of them. Swishing his tail, the fox got up and smiled again.

_Everything is going to be all right_, he repeated. _I wish you the best of luck._

He turned their back on them, and, before either of them could say a word, he was gone. It was a strange thing to witness, since he hadn't "faded away" like the Cheshire cat, or vanished in a cloud of green smoke... he was simply gone, as if he had never been there in the first place. Malcolm hadn't even seen it happen.

"Mal..."

Malcolm turned his head to see Trip looking at the spot where the small being had been sitting. There was a strange expression on the engineer's face.

"Do you think he... they... do you think they really did it?"

Malcolm regarded him for a second or two, then he turned around and reached for their backpack. In the side pocket, right where he had left it, was his communicator. He took it out and flipped it open, his eyes never leaving Trip as he did so.

"Reed to sickbay."

"Sickbay," Phlox' voice answered. "Is there a problem, Lieutenant?"

Malcolm paused. "I'm not sure," he said then. "Could you..."

"Of course."

A lengthy pause followed, a lot longer than it would have taken the doctor to walk over to the monitor and check Trip's bio data. Finally, the doctor returned.

"Lieutenant, are you sure the Commander's remote sensor is adjusted properly?"

Trip glanced down at the bracelet on his wrist. "It's workin' just fine," he said. "What's wrong, doc?"

Another pause followed. "Nothing, Commander," Phlox said then. "That is why I asked you to check the remote. There... is absolutely nothing wrong with you."

Slowly, Trip raised his eyes. "You mean..."

"The irregularities in your brain wave patterns are... gone," Phlox replied. "It's as if they simply vanished."

_Which is exactly what has happened_, Malcolm thought, a smile spreading on his face. _Vanished. Gone. We did it._

The channel to the ship was still open when he dropped the communicator in the grass. Malcolm had occasionally been known to pounce on people - most of the times, the people in question were unlucky aliens who had made the mistake of invading Malcolm's "territory". This time, however, unlike the alien invaders, his target very much appreciated being pounced on, holding his arms open while he was laughing and whooping with sheer joy. The force of the impact made them both fall backwards onto the grass, where they hugged and laughed and kissed at the same time.

_I love you_, Malcolm heard Trip's mind-voice repeat over and over again. _I love you, Mal, love you so much._

Malcolm tightened his arms around his partner and leaned down for another kiss. "I love you, too," he whispered against Trip's mouth. "And you're going to be fine. Can you believe it, you're going to be alright."

"Yeah," Trip said, smiling with his eyes and with his mind. "I'm gonna be okay."

--------------------------

It was early afternoon when they returned to the campsite, but for some reason, to Malcolm it felt as if they had been walking for half an hour at the most. As they hiked back, he could see for himself that the Mayiari had kept their promise. Not only were there no tremors or feelings of sudden weakness, but there was a bounce in Trip's step that he had missed for a long time. The engineer seemed to enjoy himself as they climbed the shallow hills of grass, refused to let Malcolm carry the backpack even for a few minutes, and even suggested that they do it "all in one go", break camp and try to reach the shuttle before nightfall.

Malcolm, who had busied himself unpacking the rations he had intended for their supper, glanced at the sky. There was not a cloud to be seen, and he was sure that the sun was going to stay up for another few hours.

_It's going to be there as long as you need it_, a voice at the back of his mind suggested, silencing the tactical officer who was strongly advising against crossing alien territory when it was about to get dark. A look at Trip's glowing face decided Malcolm. He stuffed the ration packs back to where they had come from, and got up again.

"Well, I guess we'd better get started then."

Half an hour later, only the ashes of Trip's improvised barbecue were any indication that two people had spent a night in the place. Their backpacks looked a lot more impressive again, loaded with tent poles, the rolled up tarpaulin and their sleeping bags, but this time, Malcolm didn't worry about smuggling most of it into his bundle. Trip was not only bursting with energy, he also seemed eager to test his newly regained strength, and Malcolm had no intention of slowing him down. Under normal circumstances, Trip's sudden, perfect convalescence might have made him suspicious, the ever-present pessimist in him arguing that the human body wasn't designed to heal in such a way, that this was nothing but a well-executed charlatanry that made Trip believe - if only for a short time - that he was feeling better when he was actually getting worse. But these weren't normal circumstances, not by far. Malcolm _knew_ that Trip's recovery was for real, could feel it as clearly as if Phlox had shown him the data on a bio monitor. The poison had lost its strength, and although it was still there, it was no longer impeding his partner. Trip was going to be... okay.

As they began to climb the first of the hills that led into the open grassland, Malcolm found himself smiling for no reason in particular. He reached out for Trip's hand, and, unlike before, there was no faint trembling, no film of sweat that suggested that the other man was exhausting himself beyond his limitations. The hand he held was warm and dry, and Malcolm gently squeezed it, his thumb stroking across its back.

_Are you sorry to leave, love?_

Trip turned his head and smiled. _Maybe a little. It's been nice, y'know, just the two of us_.

It was all he said, but at the same time, Malcolm saw in his mind how it had been for Trip, how nervous he had been to come here, unsure about the telepathy T'Pol had mentioned, anxious about his hopes of getting better being crushed yet again. Underlying the anxiousness and tension, however, there was something else, and it made Malcolm's cheeks grow warm when he realized what it was.

_Trip, you don't have to..._

Trip stopped, reached out and gently cupped Malcolm's face in his hand, waiting until Malcolm met his eyes.

_No, I don't have to, but I want to. And I need to, you know._

He leaned forward, and very softly, placed a kiss on Malcolm's lips.

_Thank you, Mal._

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	23. Chapter 23

****

Title

: Killing Thing****

Author

: Sita Z****

Genre

: Angst/Drama****

Rating

: PG 13****

AN:

Thanks for letting me know what you think!

Chapter 23

Looking out the window, Malcolm watched the planet's undulated surface growing smaller in the distance, and for a moment found himself wondering if any of it had actually been real. Maybe it was only a few minutes ago that they had seen this place for the first time... and maybe all they had really done was step outside the shuttle, take a good look around and then sit down in the grass for a little day-dreaming; a dream that included a talking fox, mind-voices and a wonderful night spent outside in the open grassland.

Then he glanced over at Trip and smiled. He might have been tempted to believe that it had all been a strange hallucination - in fact, he probably would have believed just that - had it not been for Trip sitting at the helm controls, his fingers passing over the console as if there had never been anything wrong. If their experience down on the planet had been a dream, then it was one of the rare dreams that could change the waking life... you woke up, and suddenly, there were solutions.

"Malcolm?"

Trip had half-turned his head, and Malcolm saw that the engineer looked worried, although he could not see why that would be.

"Trip? Is everything all right?"

"That's what I was gonna ask you," Trip said. "I..." He paused. "I can't really hear you anymore."

Malcolm knew immediately what Trip was talking about. He had hoped he was imagining it, the slow... drifting away that he sensed in his mind, but Trip's question confirmed that it was for real. Their telepathic bond, or whatever you wanted to call it, was growing weaker, and Malcolm could feel the murmur of Trip's thoughts fading away, becoming indistinct, as if someone were dimming the lights and all he could see were the blurred shapes of things he didn't recognize anymore.

Malcolm would not have thought it - after all, he had been rather suspicious of the idea of a telepathic connection - but somehow, he found himself wishing that this wasn't happening. Part of him had expected it - being a non-telepathic species, humans didn't have bonds - but all the same, the closeness of Trip's presence had been... comforting. He could see now why the Vulcans valued their mental partnerships so much; it was like a constant reassurance that the person you loved was still there, that they were all right.

"I know," he said softly. "Your... voice... it's disappearing as well."

In the meantime, they had passed the last layers of clouds, and all Malcolm could still see of the planet's surface was its moss-green color. Only now did he notice that Kira Mayiar had no oceans... or at least none that he could see. He had learned not to make any rash assumptions about this world.

"Doesn't necessarily mean that I'm all gone, though," Trip said suddenly.

Malcolm smiled. "No," he said. "I guess you're right. But I'm going to miss talking to you when no one else can hear it."

Trip grinned. "Their faces would've been priceless."

They both smiled as the shuttle continued its way to Enterprise.

* * *

"Doctor?"

Archer sounded nervous as he addressed the doctor.

"Just a moment, Captain," Phlox replied without turning around. He was standing in front of the imaging chamber, frowning at the monitor, and there was no way of telling exactly what he was seeing... and, even more important, if the frown on his face meant good news or bad news. The Captain shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and Malcolm decided that Archer didn't only sound nervous, but that he _was_ nervous, as nervous as, to quote a certain Southerner, a longtailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Malcolm tried not to smile. He didn't want Archer to think that he was not taking this seriously, although he knew exactly what would result from the tests Phlox had insisted on running - nothing. The poison was gone, as were the imbalances in Trip's brain chemistry that had caused the seizures. Malcolm could no longer feel it, as he had before, but that didn't change anything about the fact that he had witnessed it happen. He knew that Trip was going to be all right.

Archer shifted again, and this time, Malcolm did smile. Of course, being Enterprise's captain, Archer was concerned about his crew, but things were a little different when it came to Trip Tucker. Malcolm knew that to Archer, Trip didn't so much qualify under the category of "crew" as under "family", and while the Captain was an only child, his Chief Engineer and best friend of ten years had long since been adopted as Jonathan Archer's little brother. When it came to Trip, the Captain would fret and pace and worry, and, more often than not, deliver a lecture worthy of an older brother whenever Trip got himself into trouble.

A beep from the scanning chamber made Archer jump and brought Malcolm's attention back to the present. The scanner's door opened and the bed slid out, revealing Trip who was clad in his blue briefs and had his head slightly tilted backwards so he could look at the monitor over his head.

"Well?" Archer was beginning to sound impatient, and finally, the doctor turned around.

"Captain, I can't really offer an explanation as to the why and how, but it seems that the Commander has indeed regained his full health. The chemical alterations to his limbic system are simply... gone."

He said the last word in such a way as if he would have liked to give a more detailed description of what had really happened; an enzymatic reaction maybe, or a sudden immune response that had cleared Trip's metabolism of the foreign substance... anything that would have explained the poison's magical disappearance in a scientific way. However, Malcolm knew that there was no such explanation, and he saw on Phlox's face that the doctor knew it as well. It was exactly as he had said - the harmful substance was simply gone.

Archer frowned. "Are you sure, doctor?"

"If you would take a look at this, Captain." The doctor pointed at the monitor that showed two images of a human brain, highlighted in several sections. "I took this scan of the Commander's brain shortly before he and the Lieutenant left for Kira Mayiar. The part marked red is where the poison had infiltrated his brain tissue." His finger traveled down to the second picture, which lacked any red markings. "This is the picture I took a minute ago. Not only are no traces of the substance left, but the damage it did has disappeared as well." He shook his head in very human gesture of surprise. "I must say, I don't understand it. It's as if someone turned back the time. There was no way the brain tissue could restore itself."

Trip sat up on the bio bed and glanced at the screen. "I don't think that's what happened," he said.

Archer sighed and leaned against the edge of the bed. "Trip... it's not that I don't believe you. I do believe _something_ happened down there, but you've got to admit..."

He didn't finish his sentence, probably because there was no tactful way of doing so. Malcolm realized that the report they had given while they had waited in decon sounded crazy (secretly, Malcolm had wondered if Phlox might not keep them safely locked up in the decon chamber until he had found out whatever was causing their delusions). Both of them had tried to make it sound as scientific and down-to-earth as they could, but there was no denying that it was a story about a talking fox, telepathy and a planet that changed its appearance according to your thoughts. Not exactly your usual mission report, and certainly not what Archer or the doctor had expected. Still... Phlox' state of the art equipment confirmed what their colleagues had been reluctant to believe: Trip had indeed regained his full health.

"Captain," Malcolm said. Archer turned his head to look at him.

"I know our story sounds... somewhat unusual..."

"No kidding." Archer waved a hand. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant. Please go on."

"But I believe Subcommander T'Pol will confirm that the Mayiari have unique... powers, like no other species in the known universe." He decided not to go into the details of what T'Pol had said, not wanting to betray her trust. "I'm not sure how it happened, but I know that our... friend... said he was going to help Trip. We..." He exchanged a look with Trip. "We passed their challenge, and he said it was the only proof they needed."

For a moment, Archer looked as if he would have liked to ask about the challenge, but to Malcolm's relief he decided against it. Both Trip and he had decided that this was something that was going to stay between the two of them, at least for the time being. Maybe, one day, after the reports to Starfleet Command had been written and sent, Trip might want to tell the Captain about it, and Malcolm supposed that it was alright, but not today or tomorrow. For now, no one needed to know more than that they had passed the test... and if the paperpushers back at Starfleet Headquarters assumed that the "challenge" had been about climbing a tree or spending a night in a haunted place, well, that was fine with him.

Phlox cleared his throat. "Captain, as much as I would like to offer an explanation, I can only confirm what the Lieutenant and the Commander have said - there is no trace of the poison left that my scanners can detect." He looked at Trip and suddenly smiled his somewhat disconcerting smile. "To use one of your expressions, Commander - you're as good as new."

Archer began to smile as well. "Well, no matter how it happened, this is great news. I'm afraid Lieutenant Hess will have to wait a while for her promotion."

Malcolm took Trip's hand and squeezed it gently, wanting to let him know that he shared his excitement. Trip was grinning so widely that for a second or two he almost looked like a slimmer and younger version of Enterprise's doctor. His fingers tightened around Malcolm's hand, and Malcolm didn't need a bond of any sorts to know that they would have hugged and kissed, had it not been for the Captain and the doctor.

Archer glanced at the wall chronometer. "Alpha shift's due to go off duty in half an hour," he said and smiled at Trip. "Maybe you'd like to drop by Engineering and tell Anna about her bad luck."

Malcolm grinned; he knew that Anna Hess, like the rest of the engineering staff, had been furious when they had learned about Starfleet's decision to remove their Chief from his position. Of course, none of them knew the details (all the crew had been told was that Commander Tucker had suffered a severe case of coolant poisoning, although Malcolm guessed that Hess, one of Trip's good friends, knew what had really happened). In their eyes, however, the platform in front of the warp engine had had Trip's name engraved on it the day it was built, and it would be a sacrilege for anyone else to usurp Charles Tucker's rightful place. Anna had made it a point to let everybody know that she was only the "Acting Chief Engineer".

"She's gonna kick my ass when she hears about it," Trip said happily, and Malcolm suspected that in his mind, he was already going through his secret stash to check if there was enough booze for a little impromptu party in his office. Malcolm knew only too well how the Engineering crowd jumped on such events to have one of their little "get-togethers".

"Don't count on me to carry your sorry behind back to your quarters afterwards," he stage-whispered in his partner's ears, and the slight reddening of Trip's cheeks told him that he had hit the nail on the head. Malcolm smiled to let Trip know that he was only teasing; in fact, it would be good to see Trip hanging out with his staff as he had used to, even if it meant guiding a giggly Chief Engineer back to his quarters in the dead of night.

His own return to the Armory would be less... informal, but he was looking forward to it all the same. There was a long list in his head of things that needed to be done to get his department back to the 97 efficiency rate he liked to keep, and if he could get started tonight, it was fine with him. He was trying to decide whether to start with upgrading the targeting scanners or re-scheduling the training sessions when Phlox' voice drew his attention back to the present.

"If I remember my human idioms right, "to drop by" means a _brief_ visit." He looked pointedly at the two of them, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I want you to get a good night's sleep before resuming your duties aboard. Or celebrating your return," he added, and Malcolm supposed that he wasn't the only one who knew about the secret cupboard in the Engineering office.

"You heard the doctor, gentlemen," Archer said. "Take it easy. Oh, and by the way, I'd like to see you both at 0800 tomorrow morning in my ready room. The after-mission report," he added. Malcolm sighed, trying for a look of long-suffering patience at not being allowed to start his weapon upgrades tonight, but he knew that he wasn't fooling anyone, least of all himself. He just loved it when things got back to normal.

* * *

Three days after the Captain had advised him to take it easy, Malcolm walked down the corridor to his quarters, resisting the urge to sniff his armpits to check if they smelled as bad as he thought. It wasn't likely that he would meet anyone at this time of the day (or night), but there was always a possibility, and Malcolm didn't want any unsuspecting crewpeople to be confronted with an armpit-sniffing Chief of Security.

__

They'd think I'd sniff their behinds next

, he thought, realizing that he must be really knackered for his mind to come up with that particular mental image. They had been doing hard-ware maintenance today, and Malcolm had not been joking when he had told Trip this morning that he would probably be doing overtime tonight. Hardware maintenance basically meant crawling into the bowels of the Armory to check if every screw was still in place, a job that tended to result in many a banged knee and bruised elbow. Trip's team usually came by every three months to do an overall maintenance check, but Malcolm felt safer having the delicate weapons hardware looked after every four weeks. It just wouldn't do to lose fire power in the middle of a battle because of a malfunctioning circuit.

After hours of crawling through Jefferies tubes and climbing up and down the many ladders Enterprise's designers had somehow squeezed in between the bulkheads, Malcolm felt the way he had after a particular hard day at the Starfleet Field Training Camp: filthy, hungry and sore all over. All he really wanted to do was shower, eat and sleep (preferably in that order), but he doubted he would find the energy to drag himself to the messhall tonight. Trying to remember if there was anything edible hidden away in the drawers of his desk, Malcolm reached out to enter his door code - and stopped when he saw that someone had stuck a note to his door. He plucked it off, read it, and felt a smile (the first in hours) begin to form on his face. Stuffing the note into his pocket, he turned away from his door and continued his way down the corridor.

As he entered Trip's quarters, he found the lights dimmed, and for a moment believed that Trip had turned in for the night, after all. Then he saw that the engineer's quarters had undergone a subtle but noticeable transformation. While Trip was not a messy person, he did have a tendency to leave his personal belongings where he could easily reach them, including the occasional wayward padd on the sink and coffee mug on the desk. Tonight, however, the place was spotless, living up to standards that even Stuart Reed would have accepted.

In front of the couch stood a small table covered with a white cloth, complete with two carefully arranged sets of dishes and a floral decoration (well, actually Trip's little cactus, but the effect was still a festive one). The candles that had been placed on various shelves immersed the room in a warm, orange light, and made the austere Starfleet furniture seem almost cozy for a change.

"Mal!" Trip got up from the bed, and Malcolm saw that he was dressed in a pair of slacks and his blue shirt, one of the few that Malcolm actually liked. He came over, and, as if Malcolm weren't grimy and smelling of sweat and grease, wrapped his arms around him and kissed him on the lips. "How was your day?"

Malcolm tilted his head to look at his partner. "Getting better. _Much_ better, actually," he added with a glance around the room. "How do I deserve this?"

Trip smiled. "Just wanted to do somethin' nice for you. Because I love you."

Malcolm glanced at the candles and the carefully laid table. He was beginning to understand what this was all about, and it touched him deeply that Trip would do this for him.

"Trip..." he began, "This is wonderful, but you know you don't have to..."

"Shhh." Trip silenced him with another kiss. "Just shut up, Brit, and let me spoil you a little."

Malcolm smiled. "Yes, sir."

Trip reached out and wiped something off Malcolm's nose, grinning when his finger came away black. "From the way things look, you might wanna start with a shower."

Wondering how he had managed to get even his nose dirty, Malcolm nodded. "Sounds good."

"Off you go to the bathroom, then."

Ten minutes and a very relaxing shower later, Malcolm returned to the main room, dressed in the sweat pants and t-shirt Trip had laid out for him. In the meantime, Trip had unpacked the thermocontainer on his desk, producing a plate with lamb chops, gravy, a bowl of brown rice and various Thai-looking vegetables. Already on the table were a salad and some sort of yellow pudding with cream and pineapple topping. Malcolm stared.

"Trip... how on Earth did you get Chef to make this?"

He didn't have to check the menu to know that none of this had been served in the messhall today; it would have been too great a coincidence to have all of Malcolm Reed's favorites combined in one of Chef's daily compositions, especially since hardly anybody knew that he had any favorites at all... except for pineapple, of course. Malcolm had always wondered how they had found out about that one. Trip, of course, was a different story; they ate together almost every day, and since the engineer loved to discuss food (another American thing, Malcolm supposed), Malcolm had by and by confided to him which foods he liked best, and why. And as it seemed, Trip had remembered that Malcolm loved lamb chops, that there was a small restaurant in London serving the most amazing brown rice and Asian vegetables, and that Malcolm wished Chef would serve traditional English trifle instead of cake and pie from time to time.

Trip managed to smile and look nervous at the same time. "Well, actually I didn't."

Malcolm frowned, then, as realization hit him, felt his eyes widen. "You made this yourself?"

"Yeah, well, Hoshi helped me with the vegetables and the pudding, and made sure I didn't burn the chops... I'm sorry 'bout the gravy, Hoshi said there would be lumps in it if I poured the flour in too fast, but the bag kinda slipped and I..."

"Trip." Malcolm pulled the other man close and silenced him by laying a finger on his lips. "You got Hoshi to help you, sneaked into the galley, and spent your entire evening off to make this for me?"

Trip blushed. "Well... yeah."

Being a Reed, Malcolm wasn't used to getting sentimental over anything, and usually found himself smirking when people started to pull out their handkerchiefs at movie night. This time, however, he couldn't deny that his voice was a little on the hoarse side when he spoke up again.

"Trip... I can't believe you did this, just for me. I..."

"Hey." It was Trip's turn to lay a finger on Malcolm's lips. "Not "just" for you, okay? I did it for you, and I'm nervous as hell whether I did a completely crappy job or not, so why don't we get started and find out. I don't think I can stand the tension any longer."

Malcolm laughed, hoping Trip would ascribe the brightness of his eyes to the candlelight. After all, Reeds did not snivel.

"Sounds like a plan to me."

It turned out that Trip need not have worried. The lamb chops were exactly the way Malcolm liked them, as were the rice and the vegetables, and he had two helpings of pudding before he finally slumped back on the couch, feeling as if he were going to burst at the seams.

"That was delicious, Trip," he managed, surveying the remains of their feast with a longing eye, but there was absolutely no way he could fit one more morsel into his aching stomach. "Best bloody dinner I ever had on Enterprise."

Trip flushed with pride. In an obvious attempt at covering up his reaction, he punched Malcolm lightly in the shoulder and grinned.

"Don't you let Chef hear that. He wasn't too excited in the first place when Hoshi asked if she could use one of the stoves, and even less excited when it turned out that I was gonna be the one doin' the cookin'. Muttered somethin' 'bout his precious galley not bein' a spare time amusement, and I had better not get any machine oil on his equipment."

Malcolm smiled and shook his head. "I can't believe he even let you in there. The way he guards that place, I wouldn't be surprised if he had a trapdoor at the entrance, to stop any potential invaders."

Trip shuddered ostentatiously. "Don't you give him any ideas."

He reached out and picked a piece of pineapple out of the pudding, dragging it through the yellow mass before he popped it into his mouth. Malcolm was surprised that Trip could still find room for more, after polishing off three heaped plates of chops, rice and vegetables, but he had learned that a Tucker only stopped when there was nothing left on the table (how they all managed to stay so slim was one of the unsolved mysteries of the universe). Watching his partner's glowing face, Malcolm suddenly wished that he could still hear Trip's thoughts, feel what he was feeling. Being surrounded by Trip's mind had always been a comforting experience, and right now, he wished Trip could have looked into his mind, to see how much all of this meant to Malcolm. After sharing his thoughts with the other man, words suddenly seemed insufficient to express what he was feeling.

Trip seemed to have noticed Malcolm's eyes on him. He looked up and smiled, as if he did know what Malcolm was thinking.

Malcolm returned the smile. "Did I tell you lately that I love you, Mr. Tucker?"

"You might've mentioned somethin'..."

"I love you. And thank you for tonight."

Trip grinned. "Actually, I had a second part planned..."

Later, as they lay together on Trip's bunk, Malcolm listened to the other man's soft snoring and watched the stars outside pass by. He thought about the feeling of loss he had experienced earlier this evening, and wasn't surprised when he found that it was gone. It was true, he could no longer hear Trip's thoughts, or listen to his mind-voice... but he could feel the other man's warm body close to his, watch him sleep and know that tonight, there would be no nightmares. And if you thought about it, it was really more than enough.

Epilogue soon to come up!

Please let me know what you think!


	24. Epilogue

****

Title

: Killing Thing****

Author

: Sita Z****

Genre

: Angst/Drama****

Rating

: PG 13****

AN:

Thanks for all the feedback and comments, and I hope you enjoyed reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it! Now... on with the epilogue!

Epilogue

Anna Hess was having a bad day.

It had started with her shampoo being empty when she had staggered into the shower at 0630; she was generally not a morning person, and at this time of the day, the fact that she had forgotten to get a new shampoo bottle from Crew Supplies was enough to make her cranky. Usually, she would have gotten over it by the time she reported for duty, but not today. On seeing her colleagues' faces when she entered Engineering, she knew immediately that she wasn't the only one having a bad day. There were days in Engineering when everything went wrong - people dropping their tools on each others' toes, computer glitches, equipment malfunctioning for no apparent reason - days when you had the impression that a malevolent spirit had jinxed the entire department. The Engineering crowd used to called them Disaster Days. On Disaster Day, if you could end your shift without any burns or scratches to add to your collection, you let out a breath of relief. On Disaster Day, unless you were feeling suicidal, you did _not_ crawl into a narrow Jefferies Tube to take care of any maintenance repairs. And, most important, on Disaster Day, you did not bother Commander Tucker about anything, unless there was really no other way.

As Anna made her way to the back of the room, she could hear muffled cursing, and knew immediately where to find her superior officer. Climbing up a ladder to the second level, she glimpsed two blueclad legs sticking out from under the Stabilizer Surveillance console, surrounded by a heap of tools and equipment. And unless Ensign Hardy had perfected his impression of their Chief (which, on Disaster Day, would be a dangerous thing to do), the drawled swears coming from under the console indicated that the legs belonged to none other than Commander Charles Tucker himself.

"Chief?" Anna asked, keeping her voice down so she wouldn't startle him. "You okay down there?"

The legs moved, and a second later Commander Tucker emerged, red-faced and with a sooty smear across his left cheek.

"No, I'm bloody not okay. This friggin' thing was checked and overhauled only two weeks ago, so I'd really like to know how the hell there can be a complete system failure!"

Anna quickly bit down on the smile that had emerged at the word "bloody". She wasn't the only one who had noticed that Commander Tucker would use the occasional British expletive, and now that she knew why, she had a hard time hiding a smile whenever it happened. Like the rest of the Engineering staff, she thought that their Chief and Lieutenant Reed made a cute couple, and seeing them holding hands on movie night always made her smile. As one of Tucker's good friends, she could see that the quiet, reticent Englishman was about the best thing that had ever happened to Trip.

Returning her attention to the problem at hand, Anna knelt down beside the Commander and peered under the console. The plating that covered the underside had been removed, and she saw immediately that the problem was not a burnt-out circuit (which would have been her first guess, given the fact that today was obviously Disaster Day). Apparently, Trip had been thinking along the same lines.

"Do you think it might be the distributor unit?"

The Commander's face darkened. "That's what I thought. No wonder the damn thing's givin' us trouble today, of all times."

The power distributor, a separate unit that provided the stabilizers with the necessary energy to keep them working at all times, was a delicate piece of equipment, and it would take hours to reconfigure the settings if a malfunction had occurred.

Wearily, Trip ran a hand across the nape of his neck. "Well, I guess you'd better switch on the surrogate so I can check the goddamn thing."

Anna nodded, already on her way to the control panel on the wall. "Hang on a second, Chief."

Switching off the blinking "system failure" sign, she diverted the power flux to the substitute distributor unit. She waited for the beep that would declare the process completed, but it never came. Frowning, she tried again. For a second or two, the monitor in front of her went blank, and Anna was about to initiate a complete restart when suddenly a shrill alarm went off to her right.

"Fucking shit! Chief! It's overloading!"

The Commander was already at her side, his eyes widening when he saw the red warning sign that had appeared on all screens in Engineering:

__

Power breach in sections 3-A, 3-B, 4-A. Prepare for system breakdown.

"It's the residual energy from the distributor," he said, frantically recalibrating the console in order to cut off the power flux that appeared to be running wild. "It's been diverted to random systems. We've gotta..."

He never finished his sentence. Next to the red warning, another sign appeared, accompanied by the computer voice, which sounded strangely indifferent inmidst the chaos:

"Energy collapse in ten minutes. All personnel evacuate endangered areas. Energy collapse in 9.95 minutes. All personnel..."

"There's no one down there, is there?" Anna shouted, trying to make herself heard over the din. Sections 3 and 4 were deep in the bowels of the ship, largely empty gangways that gave access to non-essential systems and finally led to a small, locked storage area where spare parts and additional weapon supplies were kept. Hardly anyone ever went down there, and if they sealed off the area, the collapse and following explosion wouldn't do too much damage. She hoped.

"I can't scan the areas, the energy flux is too strong!" the Commander called back. As always during a crisis, he worked at twice his usual speed as he tried to find a way to prevent the impending breakdown. "The comm connection's not workin' either. We'll have to-"

He broke off, and for a second, Anna believed he was going to faint. Under the sooty smears, his face had turned ashen, and he stared at the console in front of him as if it had suddenly erupted in flames.

In a few steps, she was at his side and grabbed his arm. "Chief? Are you okay? Do you-"

"Malcolm's down there," he whispered, more to himself than to her.

At first, she thought she had misheard him. "What?"

Her voice seemed to startle him into action. He shook her hand off and broke into a run, calling out over his shoulder:

"I've gotta get him out! If I'm not back in seven minutes, seal off both sections!"

He opened an access door that led to the next Jefferies tube.

"Chief, how do you know-"

"That's an order, Lieutenant!" The door banged shut behind him, and Anna turned to the console the Commander had been working on. Forcing her fingers to stop shaking, she initiated a scan of sections three and four, and stopped short when the computer informed her that the power flux was impeding the sensors. It was like the Commander had said - the scanners didn't work. There was no way to know if there was anyone down there.

__

So how could he-

Anna cut off the thought. Right now, there was no time; if there was anything she could do to stop what was going to happen down there, she couldn't afford to lose even one more second.

The next five minutes, carefully counted down by the ship's computer, turned out to be the longest in her life. While she grimly worked her way through systems that refused to cooperate in any way, she listened to the electronic voice as it announced that the energy collapse would take place in six minutes... four minutes... two minutes. If Lieutenant Reed was really down there, and if he and Trip didn't make it out in time... she tried to quench the thought before her mind could show her in vivid detail what would happen to two men caught in the center of the explosion. It was _not_ going to happen. It was-

"Lieutenant!" Crewman Rozkvet's voice drowned out the computer's announcement that there were 1.07 minutes left until the explosion. "The scanners are back online!"

Her hands still up to the wrists in circuits, Anna risked a glance at the scan display. The sensors weren't back to full working power, but she could see the two yellow life signs approaching the Section 3 exit.

__

So the Lieutenant was really there. But how the hell-

"Energy collapse in 0.38 minutes."

"Lieutenant..." Katarina Rozkvet bit her lip. "We need to-"

"Wait!" Anna stared at the two moving lifesigns as if looking away would slow them down or make them disappear altogether.

__

Come on, Chief, come **on**!

Two meters to the exit. Energy collapse in 0.12 minutes.

"Lieutenant!"

"Now!"

Rozkvet's fingers came close to lightspeed as she entered the combination to seal off the bulkheads leading to Sections 3 and 4. Anna closed her eyes when a beep announced that the process was completed.

"All hands brace for impact!"

The explosion rocked the ship, but less so than she had expected. A small bump in the road, as Trip would have called it. The thought was suddenly the funniest thing that had occurred to her in a long time, and Anna started to giggle, drawing strange looks from her crewmates. But she couldn't help it. Still giggling, she indicated the scan display.

"Are they-?"

Katarina Rozkvet smiled. "They made it out, Anna. They're okay."

Anna closed her eyes. "Damage report?"

"Power on D-deck is partly down, seems that the explosion wrecked a few systems there. Corridors 3 and 4-A are severely damaged... no casualties."

Anna opened her eyes again and answered Katarina's smile. To her relief, the giggling had stopped.

"Thank you, Crewman."

Anna took a deep breath and walked over to the comm to rescue Ensign deSoto, who was trying to explain to a worried Captain what the hell they were doing to his ship. Right now, she had places to go, things to do...

__

... but I'd really like an explanation for what just happened.

She wasn't going to ask, however. She had a feeling that the answer might leave her with even more questions, and in this case, the best thing might be to believe in a lucky streak in the middle of Disaster Day. Engineers were superstitious, after all.

* * *

"Trip..."

Malcolm felt the metal grating of the catwalk pressing into his chest, and tried to shift his weight, which was difficult as he was sandwiched between Trip and the floor. The engineer seemed unwilling to move or loosen his iron grip, and when Malcolm turned his head, he saw that Trip's eyes were tightly closed. His whole body seemed to vibrate with tension, as it had when he had shoved Malcolm out of the bulkhead and dived after him to cover him with his body as the corridor exploded behind them. Of course, the bulkhead had protected them from the flying metal fragments, had even kept off most of the shockwave, but Trip didn't seem to care. His fingers were still digging painfully into Malcolm's shoulders as if he wanted to make sure that Malcolm was really there, alive and safe.

Malcolm stirred again.

"Love?"

"What?" The word came out as a whisper.

"Let me up?"

"Wha- oh. Yeah."

The fingers bruising his shoulders loosened their grip, slowly, as if they weren't quite sure whether they could let go yet. Trip rolled off him, and Malcolm struggled to a sitting position. His heart was racing in his chest as if he had run a marathon.

"Are you all right, Trip?"

Trip managed a weak nod. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"That's my line, you know."

It wasn't the wittiest thing to say, Malcolm had to admit, but Trip laughed all the same. A moment later, Malcolm found himself pulled into a tight hug. Trip's arms were still shaking, and his voice sounded rough as he whispered next to his ear:

"Don't you ever, ever scare me like that again. Ever. Hear me?"

Malcolm wrapped his own arms around his partner, holding him close. His own heart was slowly returning to a normal pace, and after a while, he could feel some of the tension in Trip's body drain away. Gently, he laid a hand on Trip's hair and tilted the other man's head back so he could look at him.

"How did you know I was down here? I don't think you could have scanned me, if the system was about to overload."

Trip only looked back at him, and after a while, Malcolm nodded.

"You're right, I don't really have to ask."

They both smiled.

"Nice to know it's not all gone, isn't it?" Malcolm asked quietly.

"Yeah," Trip said. "Kinda weird, but there you are. It was like an alarm went off in my head, and..." He shook his head. "It's difficult to explain. For a moment, I saw what you were seein', and... I recognized the corridor. I was terrified I wasn't gonna make it down here in time."

Malcolm brushed a strand of hair off Trip's forehead.

"You saved my life," he said. "I guess that makes you my knight in shining armor."

Trip blushed. "You're not exactly your typical damsel in distress. And you would've done the same thing for me." In an obvious attempt at changing the subject, he glanced back at the closed bulkhead. "What the hell were you doin' in there, anyway?"

"Going through our supplies of phase pistol cells. I've been trying forever to get across to the Captain that we don't have enough to arm the entire crew in case of an emergency, but he doesn't seem to think it's important. I thought maybe if I presented him with an actual number on a screen, he might reconsider."

Trip stared. "So you went all the way down here and almost got yourself blown up because you wanted to _count phase pistols_?"

Malcolm felt his face grow warm. "Well, I would call it an inventory, but basically, yes."

Trip shook his head. "I swear, Malcolm, one day that obsession of yours-"

"It's not an obsession, it's diligence."

"-one day that diligence of yours is gonna be the death of me."

Malcolm smiled and pulled him close. "I hope not. I'm not planning on getting rid of you any time soon, you know."

Trip grinned. "Thanks... I think. Same here."

"Good." Malcolm stood up, trying to ignore the various aches where his body had hit the floor, and held out a hand. "Want to go tell the Captain how we wrecked his ship this time?"

Trip grabbed the offered hand and pulled himself to his feet. "Wasn't us. And I don't think there's too much damage."

Malcolm smiled. "I know. But he might get suspicious, you know... for some reason everybody seems to think that I've got a strange love for explosions..."

Trip laughed and held on to Malcolm's hand as they went down the catwalk.

Several light-years away, a small being who could look like a fox if it wanted to smiled at the moss-green sky of its homeworld, turned around, and disappeared.

The End

Please let me know what you think - constructive criticism is very welcome :)!


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